


About A Boy

by bornforwar_archivist



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-12-31
Updated: 2006-12-31
Packaged: 2020-03-17 10:13:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 29,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18963184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bornforwar_archivist/pseuds/bornforwar_archivist
Summary: By DesireAU. After several bad experiences with relationships, William 'Spike' Giles has spent the last five years of his life in a state of confirmed bachelor-hood. He's happily become a self-centered jerk, but a 10 yr old boy and his young mother may change that...





	About A Boy

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Delenn, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Born For War](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Born_For_War), which closed in 2015. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in March 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Born For War collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/bornforwar).
> 
> Rating: R 
> 
> Status: COMPLETE 
> 
> Summary:AU. After several bad experiences with relationships, William 'Spike' Giles has spent the last five years of his life in a state of confirmed bachelor-hood. He's happily become a self-centered jerk, but a 10 yr old boy and his young mother may change that...

Chapter 1: What's In A Name?

  
  
Cad, bastard, son-of-a-bitch, dickhead, asshole…

All names I've become quite accustomed to being called throughout my twenty-six years on this sodding planet. Some would actually say I've based my entire lively hood on those names, made good off of being the shallow, self-centered bastard people expected me to be.

I wasn't born this way, not by any means, this was molded and shaped. My supreme smugness was the byproduct of several misadventures with the opposite sex since about the age of fourteen. Yes, before I let women completely fuck me up, I was a sensitive, sweet sort of bloke. You know the kind who wept openly and wrote poem after sappy poem about the girl he fancied. That, was, me then in a bloody nutshell.

I can remember the death of 'sweet William Giles' as clear as day. The exact time was six o'clock p.m., the exact date was February 14th, and the exact place my school's gymnasium during a two- hour torture fest also known as an eighth grade social. It was a well known fact at that time that I was madly in love with Cecily Holmes, a rich, popular, glorious creature who was as far out of my league as one could get. Cecily was the epitome of unattainable and that of course only served to make me want her more.

Night after night, I toiled away on my utterly horrific poetry, trying to find exactly the right words to tell her how she made me feel, making myself even more lovesick in the process. The sheep she surrounded herself with couldn't begin to see the greatness that encompassed her; Cecily was beautiful, smart, and funny, with a touch of mystery, a delicate, rare flower. The rest of our schoolmates were vulgarians, they weren't like she and I…

Naturally with all of this bullshit swimming around in my brain, I cooked up the perfect plan to make my obvious love for her known. I crafted what I believed to be an amazing piece of prose that even Yeats himself would have leapt out of his grave to praise me for and I was going to hand deliver it to Cecily at the Valentines Social. Surely she would look up at me after reading it with tears in her eyes and throw herself into my arms….

Yes, sadly this is how delusional I had become.

So there I was, decked out in my navy blue turtleneck and brown corduroys, huddled against the wall with all of the other ponces who were as scared shitless as I was about asking a girl to dance. I spent the better part of that night on the wall, clutching my precious poem tightly as I watched all of the other blokes around me have the time of their lives. I'm not sure where it came from, maybe there was an odd message of encouragement hidden in the booming music of C&C Music Factory, but suddenly I was filled with the courage to make my dream happen. I quickly left behind my fellow sad sacks on the wall, and stalked over to the large group of popular kids which my Cecily stood directly in the middle of.

I've heard tales of people in an extreme state of panic, blacking out, I figure that's exactly what happened to me the second my odious poem was ripped from my hands.

Everything else that happened after that occurred in brief, painful flashes; the music suddenly stopping as that stupid git Riley Finn began reading the words I had taken so long to craft, that I had actually managed to rhyme (including 'effulgent' and 'bulge in it, as sad as that is). The sound of gut busting laughter that emitted from my schoolmates, and lastly, the sight of Cecily, my Cecily running out of the door in an attempt to escape the embarrassment.

Of course, me being the glutton for punishment that I am, I followed her, hoping to divulge my feelings in the right way. She let me ramble on and on with my hands shoved in my pockets, and my head down before finally stopping me cold…

"You're beneath me, William."

At that exact moment my entire, fragile, little fourteen –year old, world was shattered. The entrancing beauty I thought I had loved so dearly transformed into a snotty ice princess right before my eyes. Why hadn't I seen it? She was just like the others, only concerned with her precious reputation and sod all else, including other people's feelings.

Yep, 'sweet William Giles' was gone, time of death 6:00 p.m., status DOA

The next four years of my life were spent honing a decidedly bitter and jaded way of looking at the world, women in particular and striking out against all authority. This was done by dying my hair a brilliant white blonde, practically living in an old pair of my brother Wes' combat boots, and nicking my father's old leather duster, making it my own.

But, at eighteen I found the one woman who shared my punk rock sensibility, she understood where I was coming from, played by her own rules, she was the one…

Or so I thought.

Drusilla Edwards was a dark beauty who breezed her way into the Fish Tank, a fairly seedy North London nightclub, that I happened to frequent (all apart of my 'rebel' persona). From the second she walked in, she owned that room I had never seen anything like her. A vision clad in black from head to toe, a wicked vision, and she looked directly at me.

If I had known Dru would have spent the next three years slowly sucking out my soul, I would have turned away the second we made eye contact, instead of sending her my trademark smirk.

Three years of flowers and puppies kind of love, bookend by endless rounds of fighting and shagging other people on her part. I loved Dru with all of my being she was my black beauty, the very thing I lived for. And the day I came home to our flat only to find her in mid romp with our neighbor, I quietly stuffed a few of my clothes into a duffel bag and walked out without saying a word. After all, it would have been rude to disturb her.

I hopped a plane for good ole sunny California where my long absent father, Rupert resided in Sunnydale. I swore off women for good, sure they smelt nice and of course there was the wonderfulness that is sex, but they weren't worth the trouble. I was the confirmed bachelor, the man's man. I finished college at UC Sunnydale, immersed myself into my career as a writer, partied with my friends, fought like a rabid dog with my old man, evolved into the successful, selfish shell I am today, and I did it all without a woman to slow me down by tearing my heart out of my ass.

I had achieved my mission statement so naturally the next step was to destroy it all in one fell swoop, and I did exactly that the morning a baseball crashed through my front window.

  
  
Chapter 2: The Katie Couric Morning Routine

  
  
Generally, I like to start my mornings off with three things: a good piss, a couple of smokes, and a nice cup of black coffee…

I was in the middle of the Today Show (as strange as it sounds, Katie Couric is perfect for ‘walking the dog’ to) and finishing off my cuppa when it happened. The rather loud sound of glass breaking just to the right of me accompanied by the sight of my mug being knocked to the floor by a baseball.

The moment I moved into my home on Revello, I quickly gained ‘scary old bastard’ status among the neighborhood youth. I guess it was just assumed that I could be capable of standing on my front porch all day, screaming at those little buggers to keep off my lawn. The idea that one of those drooling, snot monkeys had the balls to go anywhere near my place, let alone damage property, managed to impress me and piss me off all at the same time.

I climbed to my feet, grabbing the ball and quickly headed for the door, eager to meet the brave little Bit, who had put the ball through my window, maybe shake their hand before wringing their tiny neck. The second I opened it, I was met with a pair of wide green eyes, which were nearly hidden under a mess of chocolate brown hair.

“Mister, I’m really sorry, it was an accident…HEY!"

Now, some might say it’s inappropriate and just in poor taste to pick up a child by the collar of their jacket, but unlike those blighters, I don’t go for that touchy-feely crap, a direct statement such as this gets your point across just as nicely.

I carried the thrashing kid by one hand off of my porch, ignoring his pleas for me to put him down, and watched his poncey little friend take off running full speed down the street, ball glove in tow, before I turned to my ‘hostage’.

“Point." I said gruffly, giving him essentially the same look old Rupes use to give me when I had done something incredibly stupid. He sighed loudly and made a half-hearted gesture towards the house across the street. As evidence of how bloody in-touch I am with the goings on in my neighborhood, I hadn’t even noticed someone had moved into that place.

Without another word I marched my bundle over there, carefully balancing the baseball in one hand and him in the other.

“Knock."

He let out another sigh and gave me an eye roll, but obeyed my order, bringing up a hand to bang on the door.

For the second time that morning, I was met with a pair of wide green eyes, only instead of blatant fear like the first pair had held, these were burning with shock and anger. Also, these came attached to a beautiful little blonde number…hey, it may be early, but you can’t fault a guy for looking.

“Do either one of these belong to you?" I held out both the ball and the boy, just to add a little dramatics to my presentation.

She cocked her head to the side, crossing her arms over her chest. “Put him down."

I obliged, naturally, I’m not completely horrid you know, and tried bloody hard to stifle my laugh as the kid practically ran to her side.

“Who the hell do you think you are?!"

“Who do I think I am?" I scoffed. “I’m just a bloke trying to enjoy his morning routine, which gets very bloody hard to do when you’ve been killed by a baseball!"

“It was an accident." The boy spoke up in such a meek voice, that I actually felt kinda bad for the way I had behaved. “Adam overthrew the ball and…"

I ignored the small twinge of guilt that had reared up, and refocused my attention back on the fiery blonde in front of me. There something about the way she glared at me, this may sound masochistic, but it was intense I never wanted to leave it. I just wanted to stand there all sodding day, fighting fire with fire…

“It would do you good to make sure your little brother and his friends don’t play so close to other’s property."

She broke the deadly stare we seemed to be locked into, turning to the boy at her side. “Honey, why don’t run upstairs and wash up, breakfast is ready."

“Okay, mom."

Mum? Mum?!

Before I had time to process what I’d just heard her attention was back on me again and the stare was deadly as ever.

“I’ll pay for the window." She said, slowly taking a step forward. There must have been only an inch between us now, and the way her tiny fists were clenching and unclenching were making me nervous. “But if you ever put your hands on my son again, I’ll rip your arms off and beat you over the head with them."

Manhood’s a funny thing. In my lifetime, I’ve faced numbers of wankers who were bigger than me, practically towered over me they did, and there wasn’t an ounce of fear in my body. But this girl, a sodding blonde for Christ sakes, had managed to instill genuine fear in me. Of course I bloody well didn’t show that on the outside, what kind of poofter do you think I am?

The corners of her mouth turned up into a vicious smirk as she gave me a quick once over, her eyes lingering for a bit on my lower half.

“I’ll let you get back to whatever it is you were doing." She grinned, turning back inside the house. “Let me know how much you want for that window, I’ll write you a check."

With a little snicker and another peek at my bottoms, she slammed the door in my face.

A smile slowly fixed itself on my lips, I couldn’t help it. She had so obviously been checking me out, that it made me want to laugh, I mean, it’s not every day a woman blatantly stares at your goods like that.

In my small moment of ego-induced reverie, I gave myself a once over, noting I had left my robe unbuttoned, among other things…

“Bloody hell!" I roared, quickly shutting it, and stalked angrily back towards my side of the street.

Can’t say William Giles doesn’t make a memorable first impression.

  
*********************************

  
“Katie Couric?"

I nodded solemnly, taking a sip of my latte.

“Katie Couric."

Xander gave me a nod of his own, a sign of complete male solidarity. Xander Harris has been like the annoying, not-nearly-as-good looking, American brother I’ve never wanted, but somehow ended up with. We’ve been best friends of sorts since we met on the first day of our freshman year at UC Sunnydale. I could always count on him to be there with a cold beer, ready to talk about anything pointless and therefore guy-like. How essential Katie Couric is to the male morning routine, included in our discussions.

“What’s this about Katie Couric?" Cordelia asked, flopping down into the seat next to him.

“Oh, Will was just telling me about his run in with the new neighbors earlier." Harris grinned, stuffing the rest of his muffin into his mouth like a pig.

Cordy raised an eyebrow at me. “Your new neighbor is Katie Couric?"

Xander laughed. “No, Katie Couric is who Will master….Ow!"

Let’s just say, a strong boot to his kneecap prevented Harris from finishing that sentence. Like I said before, we’re best friends ‘of sorts’, the fact he can’t keep his bleeding mouth shut when it needs to be is what keeps the ‘of sorts’ in that equation.

“Hey guys, what I miss?"

I was so busy laughing at the three shades of red Xander’s face was turning that I didn’t even notice when Willow plopped down in the chair next to me. Oh, I guess I should make the introductions. This is, for lack of a better and more grown up word, my clique. I met Willow Rosenberg not long after I met Xander, actually, they were like a package deal. Willow’s all round sweet personality and her adorable red hair meant that there was an instant attraction, and we did date for a short period of time before she dumped me (typical) for a girl in her Psych 101, Tara (not-so typical). Unlike all of my other disasters, Red and I parted on good terms and somehow remained great friends. Xander, Willow, and I were like the three Musketeers, that is, until Xander made the conscious decision to become Cordelia Chase’s lap dog, then our threesome became a foursome.

“Nothing much." Cordy grinned. “Will apparently got into it with his new neighbors and jerks off to Katie Couric in the morning."

I shot Xander a look, before glaring at the smug girl across from me. “Could you say that a little louder please?"

“You’re still talking about Neighbor Girl?!" Willow rolled her eyes at me, taking a sip of her coffee. “You’ve been blathering on about that all morning."

“I do not blather! Occasionally I run on, sometimes I yammer, but never, *ever*, Red, do I blather."

“I missed the story." Cordy piped up. “What’s this about Neighbor Girl?"

I slumped down in my chair, I could feel the sullen little boy look creeping over my face. Here we go…

“I was very nearly killed by a sodding baseball this morning!" I grumbled, tearing off a piece of my bagel.

“Yeah, so Will thought it would be a good idea to carry the poor kid by his collar back across the street." Xander chuckled.

“What?" I said, feeling like a total bastard off of Cordelia’s look. “Nearly killed, remember? Did any part of that register with you?!"

“Oh, please tell me Neighbor Girl kicked your ass." Cordy glared at me. Two death glares in one day, I think I’ve set a new record.

“You seem to forget about the me coming close to death part, Cordy. It’s not every morning where balls go whizzing by your face…." I paused, smirking at her. “Well, for you it is, but for the rest of us…"

“Asshole."

“Proud of it." I grinned. “But it’s just what I bloody needed, you know? More damn kids running about like screaming banshees…"

“You said it wrong." Willow playfully hit me in the arm. “You’re supposed to shake your fist in the air when you use the phrase _‘damn kids’_."

Those are my friends for you. Every one of them a sodding comedian…

  
  
Chapter 3: Introductions

 

* * *

 

Author’s Note: Just wanted to say thanks for the feedback, it makes me feel all warm and fuzzy ;D. Group Hug! Hey, hands off the ass all right…! ;D

 

* * *

Even in my days of horrible poetry, writing was an essential part of me. ‘Sweet William’ may have died a fiery death but his passion for writing developed to astronomical and obsessive proportions. I buried the mediocre sonnets and took up good old-fashioned storytelling, something I proved to be rather good at.

The journals I kept from my early teens until about twenty-one were a gold mine. My bitter ramblings over my many, heartbreaks were exactly the fuel my muse needed and quickly manifested itself into Loves Bitch. The top of the New York Bestsellers list for twenty-two weeks, promotional spots on Regis and Kelly, every morning radio talk show in the bleeding country, and even a spot on Oprah’s Book Club.

Suddenly, every single viper from Los Angeles to New York wanted to date me and, every farmer’s, daughter in the, Midwest, wanted to take me under their wing and show me that a good woman actually exists…

That was two years ago.

I ignored all of the letters from desperate women across the globe (especially the ones that included underwear and/or bodily fluids), ignored the questions on whether I would ever get married or commit to someone ever again. In short, I shut the world out.

The asinine questions stopped, no more letters came, and before I knew it, two years had passed, and I was expected to produce another masterpiece. For months I’d been sitting in front of a blank Word document screen on my laptop and tonight was no exception.

When you’ve already pissed and moaned to the world and had them eat up, then you couldn’t present them with the same old dog and pony show. If I presented them with another opus on my dysfunctional love life, then my entire writing career would have been the equivalent to Britney Spears’ albums: trite, pointless, and formulaic.

There was absolutely nothing left to inspire me.

I felt a primal scream coming on, something full of piss and vinegar and frustration, and something damn manly. But the faint sound of a knock on my front door squashed it, along with the urge I had to hurl my computer against the wall.

“Hi."

For the second time today, that clumsy, little bugger from across the street had graced my doorstep. He gave me a small, nervous smile, shuffling his feet.

“Did you break something else?" I smirked, folding my arms over my chest. “Cause I can start running you a tab if need be…"

“No, I didn’t break anything else." He chuckled softly, shaking his head. “I thought instead of getting my mom to pay that maybe I could work to pay for the window. I could do odd jobs and stuff…"

Now, the benefits of having a friend who does construction include getting free work done when you need it. Xander had already offered to replace the window no charge, but I couldn’t look this gift horse in the mouth. Here was someone who actually wanted to do the tedious chores I could be bothered with, and there were no pesky child labor laws to get in the way.

I smiled at the boy. “Alright, Bit, you’ve got yourself a deal."

He visibly relaxed, a wide grin spreading across his face as he pushed pass me and into the house, rambling on as he did so. “Cool! Please don’t tell my mom about this, she doesn’t know, and she’d probably freak if she knew I was in a stranger’s house, especially a stranger she called a _‘Bleached Bonehead’_."

 _‘Bleached Bonehead’_?! Why that skinny, stupid bint…

“Jeez mister, you’re house is really dirty, and what is that smell? Do you have a cat, cause it kinda smells like my old cat’s litter box when I’d forget to change it…"

I brought a hand to my head in an attempt to stifle the enormous headache I could feel on the horizon. What have I done? What have I done?! I shut the door, lingering there for a moment to bang my head against it.

“My name’s Liam by the way, what’s yours?"

“Bloody hell…" I grumbled, turning to face him. I really hadn’t taken the time that morning to study his features, he really was the spitting image of his mum. The same green eyes with tiny brown flecks, making them nearly hazel, the same distinctive nose…

Really, the only noticeable physical differences between them (aside from the obvious) were his lips, which were a bit thinner than her full and pouty ones, and of course there was the hair. Liam’s was a dark, chocolate brown (as I’ve said before), while his mum had these shimmering gold tresses, most likely the product of a bottle, but it fit her perfectly…

“It’s William."

Liam made a face, letting out a tiny snort. “William…"

“There’s nothing wrong with William. It’s a good, solid name. Liam on the other hand, is a poofter name."

He frowned. “It’s my dad’s name."

“Is your dad dead?" I asked, flopping down on the couch.

He gave me a look before finally shaking his head. “No."

“Good, so there’s nothing that’ll make me feel bad about saying this again; Liam’s a poofter name. I doubt I’ll be the only bloke to tell you that."

He shoved his hands into his pockets, pacing around amidst my rubbish for a while before he spoke again, breaking the silence that had built between us.

“You got a nickname?" Liam shrugged. “William’s too formal."

“Not really." I sighed, trying to focus on the telly. It was bleeding miracle his mum wasn’t completely bald and crazy, just one night with this kid and his endless questions and I was ready to tear my hair out.

“Can I give you one?"

“Knock yourself out, Sparky."

Before I knew it, Liam was in my face, eye to eye. He studied me closely as if I was something under a fucking microscope. He raised an eyebrow, grinning.

“Spike."

“Spike?!" Of all the ridiculous… “Where in the bloody hell did you…"

He laughed, reaching out and grabbed a handful of my hair. “You’ve got spiky hair. How do you get it so blonde? My mom dyes her hair too, but I’ve never seen it that blonde. It’s kind of unnatural looking…"

I frowned and removed his hand from my hair. “Don’t you have something to do around here, Liam?" I sighed heavily. “I mean, that window’s not gonna pay for itself…"

He smiled, nodding. “Right, I forgot. What do you want me to do first, Spike?"

“You said something about a bad kitty litter smell, find it and douse it with holy water or something." I sighed again, waving him off.

What the hell have I gotten myself into?!

  
  
  
 **Chapter Four:** Something Like Bonding

 

* * *

Author's Note: I kind of feel like I’m moving at a snail’s pace with this fic and the Spuffyness I know you all want. So, I wanted to take the time to say that it’s extremely important to me to further establish Spike and Liam’s relationship before I bring in the other characters more. It’s a bit of a slow process, I know but you will see Will’s ‘clique’ again *I loved writing them* and of course Buffy.

 

* * *

 

For as long as I can remember, I’ve always been capable of taking care of myself. Even back in my school days, when the older chuffers were making a game of ‘Kick the Spike’, I found various ways to protect myself; pocket knives, sticks, simply running in terror. Whatever the case may be I was prepared to defend my interests and myself.

The key word there is prepared.

When one is startled out of bed by a rather loud and ungodly banging around the back of one’s house, then one can be decidedly unprepared to beat the living shit out of the thing that has decided to crawl onto one’s territory.

I flew through the house, what I perceived to be a dangerous weapon in hand, and flung the backdoor open with a forceful, action hero type of might. As I raised said dangerous weapon in the air I was met with a fit of giggles from Liam who stood amidst the toppled trashcans.

I could only glare and stutter as he doubled over in laughter and push my instincts to strangle the little wanker to the back of my mind. People tend to frown upon killing a child after all…

"What, what the bloody fucking hell?! You scared the living…!"

"I’m sorry," he snorted one last snort, his laughter finally dying down, "I didn’t mean to wake you. I was taking out the trash, which you have a lot of. It was kinda heavy and I knocked over the cans…"

"Taking out the trash?" I sighed, running a hand through my bed hair, "Liam, I’m going to ask this only once, pay attention: how in the name of all that is holy, did you get into my house where all of my trash lives, to be able to clumsily lug it out back?"

"That key you keep under your front doormat," he smiled briefly before turning to pick up the cans, "that’s a really bad place to leave a key, you know? You could get robbed that way."

"Is that right?"

"Mmm-hmm. And I don’t think any robbers would be scared away by that flyswatter."

Flyswatter? I sighed, grumbling a bit as I finally took notice of the ‘dangerous’ weapon in my hand. That’s it, from now on, I’m keeping a bat next to my bed.

The boy flashed me a brilliant smile as he walked pass me into the house, continuing to blather on about ‘breaking and entering’ and safer places to put spares and that sort of rot. I could only muster a loud sigh as I followed him. This was going to be the start of several long, long, long days.

He flopped down on my couch dramatically, wasting no time flipping through all one hundred and thirty-eight channels on my telly…

Funny, I don’t remember inviting him in…

"You ever watch the Crocodile Hunter?" he asked suddenly, his eyes glued to the screen.

"No, Liam," I sighed, "can’t say I have. Shouldn’t you be in school or something?"

"It’s Sunday."

Behold my luck, it’s still the bloody weekend.

I folded my arms over my chest and continued to watch him. His little ass was occupying my favorite seat in the whole house, so I had no choice, but what I found was borderline fascinating. He had a system as far as telly watching goes: rapid fire surfing through all of the channels (at what I counted about twenty times), stopping once or twice on a program, watching until a commercial, and then back to the surfing.

It was like an advert for Ritalin playing out right in my living room.

"You’ve never watched the Crocodile Hunter?!"

He actually broke contact with the television to give me a look of disbelief, cocking an eyebrow. I rolled my eyes at him, sighing heavily as I made my way towards the couch, sitting down next to him.

"For the last time, I’ve never seen the sodding Crocodile Hunter. Hyper Australians in tiny, brown shorts scare me, and shouldn’t you be at home with your mum? Or really, any other place besides mine?"

Liam smiled at me for a bit before turning back to the telly. "She’s sleeping, I didn’t want to wake her."

"And yet, no bloody problem waking up William…"

"Spike," he quickly corrected.

  
******************************

 

I don’t bond.

If for some reason I end up spending more than one day or one minute with a person, it’s never bonding. They’re either one: fairly interesting to talk to or two: they can’t take a bloody hint and leave.

Two applied solely to Liam.

For weeks he made himself a staple at my flat, coming over directly after school, practically never leaving until around five in the evening.

Now, I expected him to come by, he was still under the impression that he was paying for the window. But, what I didn’t expect was after he finished ridding my place of various rubbish and unnatural smells that he would stick around to lay about on my couch and watch telly.

It became a routine of sorts. Liam would finish up and then plop down next to me, where we’d spend the next three hours roaming the channels and talking occasionally. Well, talking in the sense of he babbling and me grumbling.

Today was no different, like clockwork, Liam had bounded out of the kitchen and settled down onto the couch. As usual, he bombarded me with questions (‘Does the Hollywood Minute Diet really work?’ ‘What’s wrong with Ozzy Osborne? He moves like my grandpa and my grandpa’s way older…’ ‘Do all British people say "bloody hell" as much as you do?’ ‘Do you think Anna Nicole Smith should have a dog? I mean, I’d be afraid she’d eat it whole or something…’ ‘Spike, why aren’t you married?’). And as usual, I put my head into my hands and prayed until it was over.

"Don’t your mum and dad wonder where the hell you are at nights?" I groaned, "there’s got to be someone around your house noticing they haven’t been asked ‘why the sky is blue’ fifty times today."

He looked at me rather solemnly for a moment. "My mom thinks I’ve been going to the library to study," Liam turned his attention back on the Crocodile Hunter, watching that insane bloke yank a rattlesnake out of its hole by its tail, "and my dad lives in LA, not exactly around much."

For a split second, I felt a pang of guilt and before I had a conscious chance to stop them, the words tumbled out of my mouth:

"My dad wasn’t around much either."

We sat in virtual silence for the rest of his stay. An occasional word or a sentence even, making it out from time to time. Yep, just watching the telly, but never bonding.

I don’t bond.

 

* * *

 

Author's Note: Have to give thanks to JC who helped me out when I was in a funk with this chapter. Thanks a lot, man :D

 

* * *

**Chapter 5: A Night Out**

  
"You break, Harris."

Sunnydale isn't the bustling metropolis one might think it is. It's, one of those small towns sandwiched in between two major cities. You know the type Sunnyhell's all interstate and allies for some reason.

Within our 'one Starbucks town' is two clubs the locals herd, into like bleeding cattle to get pissed and grind up against each other. The teenage hormone bomb otherwise known as the Bronze, and the Warning, who's name stirred up memories of seedy, low-rent punk clubs in the East End for me, but turned out to be nothing more than a club for the 'older' crowd.

Namely pompous college kids make up the Warning, spewing off their intellectual crap as if they were the second coming of the sodding Beatnik generation when we all know they're just babies playing at being grownups until Spongebob Squarepants comes on.

The fear of doing jail time for child molestation (the max age at the Bronze is seventeen) is what keeps me going to the Warning, plus they have a really posh setup for their pool tables.

Xander gave me a cocky grin as he readied his cue. I swear the whelp sees 'Color of Money' one time and he thinks he's on the fucking pro circuit.

"Six, corner pocket baby," he said, sticking out his tongue in a sign of deep concentration.

It's sort of been a tradition of ours to spend Friday nights at the Warning playing endless rounds of pool.

"Shit! Shit, shit, shit!" Xander cried out as he sent the cue ball bouncing hard right off the table.

Naturally I'm the only one who's any bloody good at it.

"Xander, I do believe that's a new record you've set there," Willow snickered, leaning against the table, "that one bounced way higher this time."

"Go ahead and mock," he scowled, "even Tom Cruise had to start somewhere."

I was about to join in on the Xander mocking when I felt it. A small tug at the hem of my shirt and the expressions on the faces of my best mates told me the thing doing the tugging wasn't a big-breasted blonde.

"Hey Spike!"

The one night, one fucking night I've had out with my mates in weeks and he has to show up?! As if his general pissing away of any of the quality alone time in my home wasn't enough.

"Liam.what the hell are you." I didn't even have time to finish my curse ridden grumble to the kid, as Willow blindsided me. Women are never immune to the evil that is a 'cute child'.

"William, who's your friend," she cooed.

"And what's a 'Spike'?" Xander added, knocking me out of the way as well.

Oh here we bloody go.

I could feel my sodding blood pressure rising, as the next few minutes, occurred in the same type of brief painful flashes I had when Riley Finn gave a special reading of my ode to Cecily. Me grumbling as I grabbed Liam by the arm, followed by the "but I wanna hang out and I followed you all the way here" whine that came from his mouth, and the bloody kisser from Willow.

"How about bowling?"

"Bloody how about the huh?" I asked, cocking an eyebrow. She did not just say what I thought she said.

"Well," she began, putting her cue back on the rack, "we play pool like every Friday and a bar isn't exactly the kind of place a cutie patootie like this should be hanging out. Bowling is family friendly, plus I'm really good!" Willow smiled at Liam, nudging him with her elbow. "Those two wouldn't stand a chance against us."

I couldn't stand it. The one, small thing in my world Liam had managed to stay completely clueless about was gone. Here he was laughing at Xander's 'Donald Duck' impression and talking shoe rental and bowling strategy with Wills and there I was stuck watching the last bit of privacy I had be sucked right out.

"NO!"

Suddenly everyone's attention was focused solely on me. Funny, I had no idea the internal screaming I had been doing had made it out side the confines of my head.

"There will be no bowling, okay! No sodding rented shoes, no bad 80's rock, no bloody nachos, and no stupid 'Donald Duck' impressions! Liam is going home where he can annoy that scary mum of his and we are going to play fucking pool, like we do every fucking Friday, and we are going to have a good, fucking time! Got it?!"

  
*********************************

  
I don't think I've ever been to a bowling alley that didn't play the hell out of every hair band from the late 70's to the late 80's. Is there some horrid unwritten bowling alley rule that Poison's 'Every Rose has its Thorn' must be played when the lights go down and the fog machines kick in?

I put my head in my hands and tried to shut out the sounds of 'Holy Diver' as Xander grabbed his ball and headed towards the lane. I happened to look up just in time to watch as the whelp flung the ball into the air and was lucky enough to get to stare with the same wide-eyed amazement as every other bloke in that place, as said ball careened across two lanes to the right.

"I see you don't just do that when you play pool, Harris." I snickered.

Xander frowned at me as he headed back to his seat. "Yeah, I like to consistently suck."

Willow gave him a sympathetic smile. "You get another shot, Xand." He gruffly waved her off, mumbling something about it being hard to bowl with all the damn fog on the alley, and motioned to Liam.

"You're up, kid."

"You know what," I began climbing to my feet. Now, was as good a time as any to get out of this hellhole, "it's late I should take Lee home. The little Bit does have school and whatnot."

"Spike, tomorrow's Saturday." Xander said giving me a look.

Spike?! Since when am I bloody Spike?!

"What," he shrugged, "it's a catchy nickname. It fits you."

  
********************************

  
During the weeks Liam had been coming to my flat, he'd never really talked about his mum. Sure, she came up a lot, usually in the form of 'my mom uses this hair dye' and so on, but he never really described what the woman was like to me. She remained a mystery to me I honestly didn't even know the chit's name.

The moment I pulled into 1630's driveway, she was there in the doorway. Arms crossed, impeccable scowl plastered on her face the moment she saw me. The bird's icy façade crumbled however, when Lee bounded out of my car, heading straight for her. I couldn't help but smile, it was like a bleeding Hallmark card or one of those Lifetime motherhood/menstrual cycle empowerment movies playing out in front of me.

"Lee where were you," she shouted, wrapping her arms around him, "and don't tell me you were at the library. I must've had a complete lapse in sanity to have ever believed that terrible lie in the first place."

"I went bowling with Spike and his friends, Willow and Xander. They're really cool even though they have weird names. Willow's really sweet, mom, you would like her, and Xander can do the 'Snoopy Dance' and..."

"That's great, sweetie," she said cutting him off, throwing a glance my way, "it's late, so get your little butt upstairs and ready for bed." She gave Liam a playful smile and a tiny swat on the behind as walked pass her, and into the house.

That playful and might I add adorable smile crumbled the second she laid eyes on me again. I made my way over to her, trademark smirk firmly in place and extended my hand. Hell, I've already gave the woman a peek at my goods, might as well be cordial this time around.

"Hello, luv," I drawled, "I'm Will."

My name barely made it out of my mouth before that stupid bint rammed her fist square into my nose.

"Ow! Bloody hell woman!"

She grinned, "I'm Buffy."

**Chapter 6: My Lover, My Liver**

* * *

Author’s Note: Part of the conversation Buffy and Spike have in this chapter is taken from the wonderful Indie movie ‘Tadpole’. I liked it and the flick a lot, so I thought I’d borrow. Sadly, the genius that is ‘My love, my liver’ doesn’t belong to me.

* * *

I’m convinced all women have a basic killer instinct. A protect the herd, their young, kind of thing. I don’t know if this sort of viciousness is the entire fault of the womb or maybe one of the fallopian tubes but its there. It’s that little nagging voice in the back of their minds that tells them starting riots at little Billy’s baseball game is the right thing to do. It tells them to raise hell about the wood chips on a playground until they’ve been replaced with those poncy rubber mats, and I’m absolutely sure that little voice is the reason why a bloke can’t even sit at a bar and enjoy a good smoke in California any more.

Buffy Summers had this killer instinct twenty times more than the normal woman.

“What kind of sicko, pervert are you?!"

In all honesty it took me nearly ten minutes to regroup from that shot to my face in order to understand anything this psycho bird was screaming at me.

“What the bloody hell is wrong with you, woman!" was my muffled cry as I moaned, finally finding the courage to remove my hand from my nose.

There was always something fascinating about blood to me. Really, I think I might’ve been a doctor in a previous life or some rot, but when the blood is pouring from me, when it’s covered the inside of my entire hand in a deep crimson, it’s no longer fascinating. It’s scary and gross as all hell…and sod it all…I think the fucker’s broken

“What grown man pals around with a ten-year-old boy?!" she growled, clinching her fists again. “I swear to god if I ever catch you around my son again, I’ll…"

“Wait, wait, wait a goddamn minute, will ya!"

Behold my luck, she finally put down the fists of fury and crossed her arms over her chest.

“Look Betty…"

“Buffy."

“Whatever, Buffy," I rolled my eyes, “I’m not some disgusting wanker luring Liam in with sweets and kittens, okay. The truth is, your son has been coming round mine everyday after school for weeks now. I don’t invite him, and I bloody well don’t want him there. As for tonight’s little adventure, I was out with my mates having a good time when Liam shows up out of the blue. Willow wanted to take him bowling. I don’t know what the Bit’s been telling you, but there’s truth."

I paused, sighing heavily,

“Now, can you do me a favor and get me some medical attention. I think I may be bleeding internally here."

*******************************

“Ow!"

Buffy raised an eyebrow at me, smirking a bit. “It can’t hurt that bad, you big baby."

“My entire nose is on fire, you silly bint," I growled adding, “ Plus, you’re rubbing too hard."

She laughed chucking the rag she was using to clean up the blood on my face to the side and picked up a handful of tissues, holding them to my nose.

“Its not broken, you’ll live," she smiled, “Hold those up and tilt your head back."

“How do you know it’s not broken? I don’t see a Ph.D. hanging above your kitchen sink or anything…"

“School nurse," Buffy said quietly, moving about the kitchen to clean up the great bloody mess I made everywhere.

School nurse, huh? Back in my day, all of the school nurses looked like gorillas in white tights. I would have goaded the other kids into kicking my ass every day of the week instead of the standard Tuesday, Wednesday, and Friday beatings, if I had a nurse that was half as beautiful as Buffy…

Lucky little buggers.

“Oh."

She disposed of the garbage, then quickly washed her hands before heading over to the freezer, pulling it open. “Can I get you a Popsicle or something? I have to ask, it’s like standard procedure as far as my patients are concerned."

“Sure," I chuckled, “I’ll take an ice lollie."

“You’ll take a, huh?" she asked, giving me a confused look over her shoulder.

I sighed, shaking my head, “Bloody Americans…" I mumbled, “Yes, Buffy. I’ll have a Popsicle. Cherry in fact if you’ve got one."

Buffy tossed me the lollie, grabbing one for her self and jumped up on the kitchen counter, next to me.

“So…what did you almost say your name was?" she grinned.

“Ha, bloody, ha. It’s Sp-- er, William."

There was that look again she did so well. Half-mocking, half confused as all hell…

“SperWilliam?" Buffy snorted, “Is that a family name?"

“No, no it’s William. William Giles, actually, but Lee calls me Spike…"

Suddenly, her eyes widened to bleeding comical proportions. Great, here we go. I knew, sooner or later someone would take the ammunition that stupid nickname provided and run with it…

“William Giles?! The writer, William Giles?!"

I felt a wave of pride wash over me. Here I thought this chit was going to rake me over the coals, instead I find out I’ve still got fans left in this world. Makes a fellow kind of proud actually.

“Yeah," I beamed, putting the tissues off to the side. “You’ve read my work?"

“Read it? I did a thesis on Loves Bitch for my Women’s Studies class."

“Really?!" I had no idea my bitter ramblings constituted as college material…

“Oh yeah," Buffy said absently, licking her grape lollie. “We had to write a paper on ‘Misogamy in the Contemporary Media’, your book was a prime example. I should probably thank you for getting me an A in the class."

I scowled, “No need, Buffy. Just glad to know my sad life could help someone out."

“I’m sure women aren’t to blame for all of your problems," she rolled her eyes. “But wait, you have a penis, therefore it’s unheard of for you to fuck up."

“HEY! Were you there?! No, I bloody well don’t think so. You don’t know my story."

“I read the book," she shrugged.

“Yeah," I snickered, “but you didn’t live it."

We sat there in total uncomfortable silence for a while, just eating our lollies, and not even bothering to look at each other. I hate silence like this. It always feels like someone should be saying something, and even though I would like nothing more than to choke the bint right now, I opened my mouth to speak,

“So, what’s your story?"

“So you wanna know my story now?" Buffy snickered, “Here I thought we would just continue to sit here and silently plot the others death."

“Well, I’ve done that. Now I’m terribly bored and, god help me, I want to hear you talk. So what’s your story Goldilocks? I know you’ve got one being a young mother and all. Unless you’re one of those chits who are really forty years old but can pass for like twenty-two…"

“Twenty-four," she laughed, “And yes, I’m a living, breathing teen mom statistic." Buffy sighed heavily, wrapping up the wooden stick in the paper from the lollie. “I was the ripe old age of fourteen when I had Lee. His, dad was older than me three years older to be exact, but we had been dating for nearly eight months and I just knew I was ready to take things to that next step.

Angel’s such a great guy, you know? Most of the time you hear about the father’s running away screaming when the girl tells them she’s pregnant, but Angel…he stayed. We were together and it worked, for a while anyway. He went to college and was meeting new people, I was meeting new people…there were a lot of new people," Buffy laughed bitterly. “And it got to the point where Angel and I couldn’t function without ripping out the other’s heart, so he stayed in LA and Liam and I came here,"

She paused letting out another long sigh,

“There’s your story, William."

What a bloody great genius I am, asking for conversation. Things probably would’ve gone better if I had just asked her to put a bullet in my head.

“I think the heart’s time is up, you know?"

Buffy gave me a look, “Believe me when I say, ‘uh-uh’."

“As the sodding symbol for love and rubbish like that. Why does it have to be the heart? I mean, what makes it more fucking romantic than all of the other body parts?"

Buffy continued giving me that look, but a smile slowly formed on her lips, and she nodded, a sign of complete understanding. “I think you have point."

“I know I have a point," I smiled. “What about the liver? It’s as good as the bleeding heart…"

“My liver burns for you." Buffy chuckled, batting her eyelashes coyly.

I grinned, placing my hand over my heart. “My love, my liver."

  
  


 

* * *

 

**Author’s Note:** So sorry for the wait guys. I’ve been splitting my time between this fic and my other 152 WIPs. Okay, so it’s not 152, but it feels like it. *SIGH* ‘You can handle writing four stories at once, Desire. You’re so good a multitasking…’ what a crock of shit *grin*. Word of advice; never believe anything your inner self or a drunken Muse tells you…

Also, I’m not a big card player at all actually. I don’t play poker, so with that in mind, I don’t need anyone telling me how I was all wrong about the Poker. I know it’s probably wrong, seeing as how I didn’t feel like research this time around and I know jack about the game. So, suspend your disbelief, chuckle to yourself at how ridiculous the notion is and enjoy the story.

 

* * *

  
**Chapter 7:**

 

I was becoming comfortable, maybe a little too comfortable…

Liam wasn’t so much a guest in my home anymore as he was a part of it. Sort of like the dog you come home to find jumping up at the gates from the sight of you. Uh, not that Lee’s like a dog, for one he’s never barked or pissed on my furniture. It’s just, somewhere along the way he became a companion of sorts, the person I came home to…

But we never bonded, because like I said before, I bloody well don’t bond with anyone.

“I win!" Lee cried out triumphantly. “Your money’s all mine, sucker."

I frowned, turning my gaze from the cards he’d laid out on the floor to the Bit’s grubby little mitts, which were scooping up my cash.

“Wait a bloody minute there, mate. You can’t win a hand with a pair of sixes and a pair of twos! Lee, I’ve been over the rules a million times already…"

“I know," he shrugged, “but the rules are stupid, plus you owe me five bucks."

“I thought we settled the five bucks in question with that banana split I bought you the other day?!"

Liam snorted and shot me a look, his little upper lip curling into a sneer. “Come on, Spike! I’m not stupid."

There is such a thing as having too much influence on a child, isn’t there? Liam was becoming slick, witty, and a fucking crook in training; in short he was a much shorter version of me.

Great, now I’ve created a sodding clone. Spike bloody version 2.0…

I should’ve known when I lost a hand of poker to a cheating ten-year-old that the rest of my day was doomed to be blown to hell.

Once upon a time, my father, Rupert Giles was a stuffy, tweed-clad librarian for the London Library. My earliest childhood memories consist of me nearly choking to death from the thick dust among those musty stacks, but his love of books seemed to skip a generation, right over my brother Wesley and straight to me. Though my severe alergies almost made the library a blasted death trap, I loved being there because he was there. The books, his job, they were my da’s passion…seeing him work…I swear the old blighter’s eyes would light up every time the Dewy Decimal System needed explaining.

But, when I was eleven, Rupes decided that the tweed, the books, the sodding Dewy Decimal system, my mum, Wes, and I weren’t good enough. Didn’t make him happy enough, I suppose and he split. High-tailed it for the good ole USA and Sunnydale.

When I caught up with him years later, he was in full mid-life crisis mode. No longer, sweet, dowdy, Rupert Giles, he was ‘Ripper’ a bleeding fifty year old man going on eighteen. He was sporting an earring and every dumb bimbo under twenty-five like it was a fucking package deal.

“Whoa, Spike! Who’s the guy pulling up in the Porsche?!"

“Wha--?" I began, turning around to see the machine that had Lee literally going through puberty before my very eyes. “Bloody fucking hell…" I mumbled, climbing to my feet. I should’ve known it was dear old dad; I could hear Pink Floyd’s ‘Dark side of the Moon’ blasting from a whole mile away.

“What? Who is it?" Lee asked, following me to the door.

“My sodding dad…"

He gave me a quizzical look. “I didn’t know you had a dad…"

“I don’t," I sighed, opening the door.

“William, my boy!"

Truthfully, there were only a handful of times when I felt truly helpless. My complete and utter humiliation in front of Cecily, my one and only trip to the DMV, and now in this very moment when Rupes threw his arms around me. I’m not a big hugger, sure at one point in time I must’ve been, since I was as sensitive as a bloody daisy, but now I prefer to initiate the hug if I deem you worthy enough. Being pulled into a bear hug against one’s will, only makes one even less enthused about seeing that person than they were in the first place…

“Dad…" I choked out, “air becoming a bit of an issue."

Rupert quickly let me go, grinning sheepishly. “Terribly sorry, Will. It’s been a while since I saw you last, got a little carried away and…oh my, who do we have here?" He smiled at Lee, exchanging looks from me to the boy. “Will, you haven’t gone too far in sowing your wild oats, have you?"

“No, old man," I ground out, rolling my eyes. “He’s not mine…"

Lee smiled brightly, extending his hand. “Hi, I’m Liam Summers."

“Very nice to meet you, uh, Liam Summers," he smiled, shaking the boy’s hand. “I’m Rupert Giles."

“Well," I sighed dejectedly, “won’t you come in, Rupes? Help hurry this little visit along."

Dad gave me a look, making his way inside. “I didn’t come here to fight."

“Of course," I snickered.

His hand suddenly shot out, stopping me from shutting the door,

“Wait, Anya’s grabbing her…"

“Hold that door! Pregnant woman with a breast pump coming through!"

Oh, I guess I neglected one little detail as far as Rupert is concerned. For the past year and a half, he’s been shacked up with this bird Anya Jenkins. She’s all right, I suppose, no where near as bad as any of the other bints under twenty-five he’s been with. Six months ago we found out Anya was pregnant, who knew the old bastard still had a few in him?

“Hello, William!" she said brightly, rushing past me. Anya set her sodding breast pump on my coffee table, flopping down onto the sofa, and gave a look in Liam’s direction. “Well, hello little boy whom I’ve never seen before. I didn’t know you had a child, William."

“I don’t. Anya, this is Liam, he lives across the street."

Liam smiled at her as he headed over to the coffee table. He stood there for what seemed like an entire five minutes, closely inspecting the breast pump that was taking up space on my furniture. Finally, he broke out of whatever trance the thing had him under and turned to Anya.

“What in the world is that?"

“That little boy, is a breast pump," She stated matter-of-factly, then laid a hand on her swollen stomach, beaming with pride. “See, when a woman is pregnant, her very perky and well rounded breasts fill with milk for the baby. That pump, takes out the milk so that the woman can store it for the baby to drink, when her nipples have become to sore for her to take it any more."

I also forgot to mention how tactless and blunt Anya can be, but I guess that minor detail can bloody go without saying…

I cocked an eyebrow, “Anya, you’re only six months along, why are you using the pump?"

“Anya had this idea to freeze the milk," Rupert piped up.

“Is uh, that safe, da?"

Anya shrugged, gazing lovingly at her chest. “It’s convenient."

I could almost feel the blood vessel in my brain getting ready to burst, but the sound of my doorbell going off put that on hold, for now at least…

“Hi," Buffy grinned, walking inside, “I figured I’d give you a break from my wayward son and bring him home…and oh, you’ve got company."

“It’s okay," I began, shutting the door. “Buffy this is my father, Rupert and his girlfriend, Anya, dad, Ahn, this is Buffy, Lee’s mum."

She waved shyly, “Nice to meet you, I’m so sorry for barging in like this. Lee and I will be on our way…"

“No, dear it’s no bother at all. In fact, have a seat, I was just about to order dinner."

Dinner? Who the hell said anything about dinner…?!

“Uh, da…"

“Will, you don’t mind if Buffy and Liam join us for dinner do you?"

Great, just bloody great.

  
**********************************

I think I’m one of those few lucky people who already know what their ninth circle of hell will be. I, William Giles will be forced to sit and listen to my father tell every embarrassing story of my childhood he knows for all bleeding eternity.

“So, Will and Wesley decide to play a game of daredevil," the old man laughed, taking another bite of his eggroll. “Now, they’ve got their mother’s best towels tied around their necks as capes, and their just zipping around the backyard on their bikes, jumping over everything in sight. Will decides he wants to one up his brother, so he sets up the little ramp near the fence, looking to jump it," he chuckled. “He goes racing across the yard heading towards the ramp; and apparently got scared about jumping it, because as soon as Will hit that ramp, he crashed right into the bloody fence!"

I sighed, putting my throbbing head into my hands. Well, maybe that blood vessel will burst tonight after all…

“The poor lad gashed his eye clean open, gave his mum and me quite the fright. And that’s how William got that scar in his eyebrow," Rupert shook his head. “Ten stitches, I remember clear as day."

Liam looked up from his beef and broccoli, raising an eyebrow. “I thought you said you got that scar in a bar fight?"

I laughed nervously, “Bar fight? Bullocks, I never said anything about a bar fight. Hehe; kids, always making up crazy stories…"

What? A bar fight is damn well more manly than crashing into the backyard fence.

****************************

“Buffy, it was very nice meeting you."

Buffy smiled brightly as dad shook her hand. “It was nice meeting you too, Giles…" she made a face, shaking her head. “Uh, I mean, Mr. Giles. I dunno why the hell I called you ‘Giles’."

“It’s fine," he laughed. “I rather like Giles, sort of like Sting or Madonna, isn’t it, Will?"

“More like, Bon Jovi, da," I sighed as I plopped down on my couch. “You and Anya have a safe trip back home, make sure that bint doesn’t get to carried away with that pump."

My head made its way back to my hands as I heard the door close and the nearly sweet purr of that Porsche pulling out of my driveway. I had survived another unwanted visit from my dad; I swear I could almost taste the bloody freedom. I lifted my head up in utter relief only to be met with a semi-glaring Buffy, complete with her hands on her hips.

“What?" I asked wearily.

“I like your dad," she said, taking a seat next to me. “I don’t see why you’re so hard on him."

I gave a little snort, rolling my eyes. Of course she doesn’t see…

“Did he leave you to look after a crying mum at eleven?" I shook my head. “Rupert’s all talk. He’ll leave that crazy bint just like he left my mum. Anya will have nothing but a crying baby and a freezer full of sodding breast milk, mark my words, luv."

“You know, my dad left too," Buffy let out a bitter laugh, running a hand through her hair. “Yeah, when I was sixteen actually. Took off for Spain with his secretary, living the cliché. But, you wanna know the difference between your dad and mine?"

“What’s that?"

“Yours still cares," she said softly.

“Well," I laughed, “wasn’t that just Hallmark movie-of-the-week touching."

“I’m serious, Spike," Buffy playfully smacked me in the arm. “You should really consider giving him a chance again…"

“Mmm-hmm."

“Come on," she grinned, “he may let you drive that sweet little car of his."

“The Penile extention?!" I snickered. “That thing practically runs on semen, no way I’m driving that."

Buffy laughed, rolling her eyes before casting a glance down at her son, who, was currently unconcious in the middle of my living room floor.

“I should wake him, huh?"

“Nah," I smiled, “he looks so peaceful and innocent. Plus, knocked out this way, he can’t ask fifty million bloody questions."

“Oh, don’t I know it…" she sighed, climbing to her feet. “As tempting as it is to let him sleep, I just can’t leave him in the middle of your floor," Buffy threw me a wicked grin over her shoulder as she bent down to gently shake Lee. “From what he told me, there’s no telling what could be crawling around in your place."

“Ha, bloody, ha."

She managed to wake the boy, helping him up on his feet as he groggily wiped at his eyes. Buffy carefully led him over to the door.

“Thanks for dinner, Spike."

“Hey, Buffy," I called out, “is freezing breast milk a good thing?"

  
  
**Chapter 8:**

“… ‘Said you a gangsta, but you ain’t never popped nothin’; said you a wanksta and you need to stop frontin’…" Xander bobbed his head as we made our way into the Espresso Pump.

All I could do was shake my head as he continued to make a very white attempt at rapping. That’s something I never understood; Eminem comes out and all of a sudden every kid in Malibu whiter than Casper thinks he’s straight out of Compton. Sadly, Harris included…

“You are the whitest bloke in America, you know that?"

He shrugged giving me a goofy grin. “You’re just jealous because I’m down and therefore more gangsta than you."

I laughed. “Slim Shady, why don’t you go grab us a table before the girls get here."

Xander rolled his eyes and gave me the finger before he walked away, scouting the café for a good spot. It’s bloody unavoidable, between this and Harris’ stirring rendition of Nelly’s ‘Pimp Juice’ on the way over, I’m going to have to find a new best friend…

“What can I get for you today, sir?" I plastered on a smile for the overly perky chit behind the counter. I realize she’s in the customer service end of the business and all, having to smile and rubbish like that, but the sun was practically reflecting off of this bint’s teeth. I’m pretty sure she’s been guzzling coffee grounds for the better part of the morning.

“Yeah, luv," I drawled, leaning forward. “Give me three mochas, all with whipped cream. One light on the chocolate, one medium chocolate, and one heavy. I also want one regular coffee, cream, no sugar, and two chocolate chip muffins." I wet my lips just a bit and gave her my most winning smile. Suddenly, I felt like flirting with ‘Coffee Grounds Girl’. Sometimes the male ego needs to be fed to be able to keep going. “Think you got all that, pet?"

She giggled, blushing slightly. I may have put my self out of commission as far as dating is concerned, but it’s always good to know I’ve still got it… “I think so. Your order will be ready in just a minute."

“Think you got all that, pet?" a mocking voice called from behind me.

I rolled my eyes as I turned around, a little glad to see her so early in the morning but still wanting more than anything to call her every four-letter word in the sodding book.

“Does that shit actually work?" Buffy smirked at me as she slipped off her sunglasses, her perfectly arched brow quirking upwards.

Funny, Buffy always seemed to leave me wanting to spout every curse I ever learned. Even the ones that weren’t in fucking English…

I shrugged, grinning, “What are you doing here, Summers? Shouldn’t you be spraying that bloody awful bactine on some poor little bastard's knee, or throwing sawdust on vomit or something?"

“ ‘Little bastard’, huh? My, Spike, you’re going to make a great father someday," she snickered, giving me an eye roll of her own. “Three glorious words everyone who works at a school longs to hear: ‘Teacher’s In-Service’," she smiled. “That means no school for the ‘little bastards’ as you put it, for today and Monday; Liam’s in LA for the extended weekend, and I have four days of Buffy alone time." Buffy frowned suddenly and punched me bloody hard in the arm.

“Ow, woman!" I glared, clutching my now throbbing arm. I swear to god, this chit’s half superhero or something. “What the hell was that for?!"

“Sawdust on the vomit is the janitor’s job, not the nurse."

“Jesus, two months of knowing you and it’s a fucking wonder I’m not a walking bruise," I snorted. “You might wanna look into some anger management classes, luv. Winning friends through broken bones and internal bleeding never works."

Buffy opened her mouth to speak but was cut off by ‘Coffee-Grounds Girl’, who managed to repeat my order back to me at the speed of light. In all honesty, I’m a little worried about this bint; she looks as if either her heart should stop or she should start foaming at the mouth at any second.

“Here you go, sir. Three mochas, whipped cream, one light, one medium, and one dark; one regular coffee, cream no sugar, and two chocolate chip muffins."

I smiled at the cheerleader behind the counter doing my best to suppress a groan. Maybe I over did the charm just a bit. She was giving me that schoolgirl in love look and it was enough to make me want to heave…

“Thanks ever-so, luv," I said, slipping her a twenty.

“Gee, that’s a lot of coffee for a man with no friends," Buffy snickered, moving up to the counter. “I’ll have a regular coffee, cream no sugar, please."

I frowned, “Are you always this bloody funny on your off days? See that table over there with the adorable little redhead, the poncy looking guy with the floppy hair, and the Rodeo Drive fashion queen?" I sighed, “Those are my friends. Yes, I have adult ones, no they’re not finger puppets, nor did I make them up."

“That was one regular coffee, cream and no sugar," Perky interjected once again, “that’ll be $3.50, Miss."

“I never thought they were finger puppets," Buffy grinned.

I chuckled, shaking my head. “Do you wanna join us for a bit? See how they talk and breathe just like normal folk…"

“Sure," she smiled. “I’d love to meet the kind of people brave enough to put up with you on a regular basis."

“You’re bloody full of ‘em this morning, aren’t you?"

“Mmm-hmm…" she smirked at me.

We made our way over towards the gang and I almost wish I had a blasted camera to capture the moment. Their expressions were a mixture of awe and pure shock like one might get if he were to walk in on his Gran getting out of the tub.

Is it that fucking shocking to see me with a woman?!

“Guys, this is Buffy Summers, Liam’s mum…"

“So this is ‘Neighbor Girl’," Cordelia smiled warmly at her. “It’s nice to finally meet the chick Will goes on and on about…"

“I don’t go on and on, Cordelia. I’ve brought her up, I’ve relayed stories, conversations, but I’ve never, ever gone on and on about her," I said in a clipped voice, turning to face Buffy. “I don’t go on and on…"

“Yes you do…"

I narrowed my eyes. “Shut your gob, woman."

“This is the nurse?!" Xander squeaked. I swear, sometimes I think the Whelp is still thirteen years old, spraying his shorts every time a pretty bint comes around. His face settled into that goofy grin he does so well, and he waggled his eyebrows a bit. “Hellllooo, Nurse!"

Off of Cordy’s glare of death, Xander laughed nervously, giving his girlfriend a loving look.

“Uh, not that I meant that in a sexual way," he fumbled. “I was saying ‘Hello nurse’ to um, get Buffy’s attention. I think I pulled a muscle and it might need to be looked at. My intentions were strictly medical, Cordy…"

“Shut up, Xander."

“Buffy," I began, “this dysfunctional threesome is Willow, Xander, and Cordelia, my friends," I paused, smirking. “Well, not Cordelia so much…"

“It’s so nice to finally meet you, Buffy!" Willow piped up, climbing to her feet. “Here, have a seat, I’ll go grab an extra chair."

“It’s nice to finally meet all of you as well," Buffy smiled brightly, taking a seat. “I’ve known Will for about two months and, I’m surprised I hadn’t met any of you before now," she laughed. “I was starting to think he’d made you guys up, and you were all finger puppets or something."

The four of them had a bloody great laugh at my expense as I sipped my coffee. Really, the morning just wouldn’t go right if there wasn’t, a round of drive Spike around the fucking bend…

“So, single-mother, huh?" Cordy said bluntly, taking a bite out of her muffin. “That’s gotta be a total drag. Most of the women I’ve seen in your situation have bags under their eyes deeper than black holes; how do you keep so well moisturized?"

  
****************************

  
I think a part of me always looked at my circle of friends as some sort of impenetrable fortress. We were superheroes of sorts, I suppose, doing fantastical things and living lives no one outside of it could comprehend or ever be a part of. Even though said fantastical things consisted of mornings at the Espresso Pump sipping on overpriced Java like we were those soulless wallies on Friends, playing rounds of pool at the Warning, and making fun of B-Science Fiction movies Mystery Science Theater 3000 style on every other Saturday night.

Despite my Super Friend’s lack of, well super…it still felt like we were doing things the other sods in this world didn’t do and wouldn’t get because they wouldn’t be part of this group… And then there was Buffy. In spite of what Cordy blabbed earlier, I do not go on and on about the little woman across the street, though, the more I see of her, the more amazed I get. By the end of the morning, Buffy had effectively made herself one of the gang. She and Willow were gabbing like old friends, she was trading fashion and bloody skin care secrets with Cordy, and when he wasn’t secretly drooling, Xander was cracking jokes and giving off that protective big brother vibe in Buffy’s direction.

How did she do that?

Maybe somewhere in between the introduction and the ‘Hey Buffy, why don’t you come over to Will’s tonight? We’re all gonna hang and watch videos,’ I got turned around. She’d slipped into my circle, made herself a full time part of my life.

Buffy wasn’t just Lee’s mum any more, my mates would want to see her again, she, would want to see them. The days of casual acquaintance were gone. She was a friend now.

Jesus-Tap-dancing-Christ, I’d made another friend.

“Hey, bleach-boy, you’re bogarting the popcorn," Buffy reached for the bowl in my lap with her greedy little fingers. I grinned wickedly and lifted the bowl over my head and completely out of her reach.

“I’d like to see you come and get it, Goldilocks," I waggled my eyebrows at her.

Buffy gave me a look before she scrambled onto my lap in her attempt to reach the bowl. I’m not exactly the tallest bloke in the world, I probably top out at around 5’8, but mercilessly teasing those who are shorter than me, gives me a strange warm feeling. Almost tingly…

Cordelia rolled her eyes. “Hey, why don’t you two go grab a room, the rest of us are trying to watch a movie here."

Buffy immediately stopped her reaching and climbed off of my lap.

“We don’t…need a room," we mumbled simultaneously. She scooted away from me as I shifted rather uncomfortably on the couch; the whole playful, friendly climate between us now changed thanks to Queen C.

I glared at Cordy and plopped the bowl in Buffy’s lap. For a second there, I was tempted to see just what kind of sound my boot would make upon impact with a human head, Cordelia’s head in particular…

“You have the attention span of a blasted gnat, Cordelia," I sighed. “Besides, ‘Army of Darkness’ doesn’t require one’s full attention. It’s not like you’ll blink and miss the deeper meaning behind the bloke with the chainsaw hand."

Xander’s head shot up from the pillow he was resting it on, and he turned it ever so slightly, tossing me a dirty look over his shoulder. “I’m gonna pretend that you didn’t just indirectly insult the ‘Evil Dead’ series, in your attempt to insult my girlfriend."

Willow giggled, “Cordy, do you even know what’s going on?"

Cordelia shrugged. “Nope," she sighed as she climbed to her feet, taking the popcorn bowl away from Buffy. “There’s no creepy bushes in this one, right?" she shuddered. “Those bushes were just…wrong."

“Cordy, did sort of have a point…" Wills, gave, me a knowing smile, alternating her look between Buffy and I.

“About the bushes?" Buffy asked.

“No," Wills rolled her eyes, “about you two. You did look all snuggly wuggly a minute ago. Is there something you guys aren’t telling us?"

“Come on, Wills, you know Spike doesn’t date," Xander said, stuffing popcorn into his mouth. “Remember, yadda, yadda, yadda, all women ever do is hurt me, yadda, yadda, yadda, they’re all wicked bitches, yadda, yadda, yadda…"

“You really feel that way?!" Buffy’s arms were starting to cross over her chest and I could see that look forming in her eyes. Silly me for actually thinking I could make it through a sodding day with her and not get that look.

“No…I don’t really…" I stuttered a bit, desperately trying to save face. Maybe my boot/head noise question will be answered tonight after all… “Look, Xander’s just spouting all the crazy things I’ve said post breakup. I don’t think all women are like that, if I did, Willow and I wouldn’t be friends."

“Darn tootin," Willow gave me an affectionate smile.

“But your whole ‘Women are the devil’ attitude was practically the driving force in your book…"

“My book was about relationships in general," I shrugged. “They all either crash and burn or you end up with two extremely bored people who are in it simply because they don’t know anything different; like a bloody worn out shoe it all is. It’s not worth it, so I remain alone."

Cordelia grinned wickedly. “Hence why Will’s right hand and Katie Couric are his best friends."

I scowled at Cordy before turning to Buffy, “Pay no attention to Cordelia," I smirked, “the syphilis makes her talk crazy."

“Fuck you, William!"

“I haven’t found a woman worth making a fool out of myself for," I continued talking to Buffy, completely ignoring the endless stream of curses flowing out of Cordelia’s mouth. “And I don’t really expect to…"

Buffy suddenly turned away from me. “Xand, did you get ‘Killer Klowns From Outer Space’?! I haven’t seen that movie in years, and I suddenly have the desire to never look at cotton candy the same way again."

“Hey! I thought we were having a bloody conversation here!"

“We were," Buffy grinned. “But you’re still trying to rename your ‘women are the devil’ point of view, and I’d much rather watch a bunch of oogly clowns kill unsuspecting teenagers with balloon animals, than listen to the shit you’re trying to spin on me, Spikey." She patted my thigh patronizingly, and I could literally feel the climate between us shifting back to the comfortable/friendly air it had before Cordelia and her mouth.

Humph, Buffy actually saw through my bullshit.

“Don’t call me Spikey," I playfully pulled her hair. “Goldilocks."

Amazing…   
  
  
  
**Chapter 9**   
  
  


* * *

  
Author’s Note: A thousand humble apologies about the long wait. Writer’s block is a pain. Anyway, as soon as I finish my other fic ‘The One’, I’ll be focusing full time on About a Boy, so new chappies won’t be months and months apart *cross your fingers*. So, enjoy the new-ness, and keep reviewing…it helps feed my ego – uh I mean my muse… *grin* 

* * *

  
  
*************   
  
Family’s a funny thing. In a perfect world, you’d get to choose the people who’ll spend the rest of your life royally fucking you up, but God’s got a sense of humor. Gives us a mixed bag; an alcoholic uncle here, a deranged, mutant cousin with a crush on you there, and parents whose gross emotional problems bloody far outweigh yours.   
  
“He’s still with that trollop…"   
  
“Anya’s not a trollop, mum," I sighed into the phone, bringing a hand to my temple, “just blunt."   
  
About three times a month, I’m treated to a phone call from my mum. A rousing hour or so where the first thirty minutes are spent discussing the typical mundane telephone conversation crap (How’s the weather? Did you finish your book yet? When are you gonna get married and give me fat grandchildren?!), and the next thirty is used to chat me up about Da before spending the last five minutes calling Anya every offshoot of the word ‘whore’ the old bird can think of.   
  
“Promise me, William, that you won’t become a big wally like your father when you get to be his age."   
  
I smiled. “I promise, mum. I’ll stop sleeping with women half my age the second I hit fifty."   
  
I’m fully convinced it was the psychotic influence of the family that led to the invention of things like cigarettes and heroin. The type of shit that takes the edge off; makes a bloke think twice about standing in the middle of a crowded room waving a gun a around while he screams at the top of his fucking lungs --   
  
And since I bloody hate needles, I go for the cigarettes.   
  
For the last two years Willow’s been launching a campaign to get me to quit. I swear Red’s got a nose like a sodding Basset Hound, sniffing the air in my flat periodically to check for staleness. So, I’ve had to resort to having a fag outside and discarding the butts in the road as if I was a kid again, hiding his bad habit from his folks.   
  
I usually only light up after stressful situations. Random visits from Da, and calls from mum constitute as stressful and are a hair away from suicide inducing.   
  
As mum continued to blather on about Anya and her disgust over the ‘breast pump information’ I’d just given her, I padded through the house, turning over various cushions and piles (with Lee gone, things quickly got dirty again), looking for my smokes…   
  
“Who in their right mind ever heard of freezing breast milk?!" she scoffed. “Rupert deserves her. He’ll have someone in the home to keep him company in his old age; although, that loony bint’ll probably try freezing his medication."   
  
“Mmm-hmm…" I mumbled, rumbling through my desk drawer. And like the sodding Holy Grail, there it was. My pack of Marlboro Reds, shiny, glorious sticks of tar and rat poison—   
  
“Well, mum, I gotta go. Get to work on that book and all," I lied, easing my way out of the front door. I breathed a sigh of relief once I heard that tiny click on the other end of the line. Don’t get me wrong, I love my mum, but there’s only so much I can take.   
  
I made my way to the end of the drive, carefully steering my bare feet away from the various rocks littering it. The things one has to go through just to enjoy a little cancer inducing pleasure…   
  
“Fancy meeting you here," Buffy shouted, grinning at me from the end of her driveway.   
  
I finally looked up, having found my lighter (damn things always seem to get buried in the depths of your pockets), and gave her a smirk of my own, slipping the fag between my lips.   
  
“I’m beginning to think you’re stalking me, Summers."   
  
“Oh yeah," she laughed sardonically as she headed towards me. “I’m always watching you. Just waiting for you to come out of your house so I can make it all look like one giant coincidence."   
  
I frowned. “You don’t have to be that sarcastic about it," I sighed in mock hurt. “Jesus, spare a fellow’s ego."   
  
Buffy rolled her eyes at me and snatched the cigarette out of my mouth.   
  
“Hey!"   
  
“How bout I spare a fellow’s lungs," she said sternly, cocking her head to the side. “These things will…"   
  
“Give me loads of unspeakable cancers, blah, blah, blah, have me hooked up to thousands of machines and talking through the hole in my ass, blah, blah, blah," I glared, snatching it back. “I’m taking the opportunity to not care."   
  
“You’re impossible," she shook her head.   
  
I shrugged, smiling. “I like to think of it as ‘imperfectly endearing’." I lit my fag, ignoring the snort of disgust that came from Buffy; sometimes the chit’s a little too ‘holier than thou’ if you ask me. “So, what are you doing taking in the quiet moment of reflection outside? Figured you’d be soaking in a tub with those stupid cucumber slices on your eyes."   
  
She shoved her hands in her jean pockets. “I dunno…I mean, I was all game for ‘Buffy-alone-time’ yesterday, but I’ve come to discover that ‘Buffy-alone-time’ is really…" she paused and smiled sheepishly, “lonely."   
  
“Missing the Bit, huh?"   
  
“Well, when you give birth to them, you do get all attached and used to having them around," Buffy quipped. “It’s the first official ‘weekend at dad’s’," she sighed. “So, yeah I’m missing my baby and trying hard not to be one those moms who call every five seconds."   
  
“Heaven forbid," I chuckled.   
  
“What about you?" she playfully shoved my shoulder. “Sneaking out with the ciggies…"   
  
“Just got off the phone with me mum," I sighed, taking a long drag before tossing the butt out into the road. “Plus, Willow always knows when I’ve been smoking in the house."   
  
“Oh, God – don’t tell me you’ve got mother issues, too?! You’re a therapist’s wet dream, Spike, you know that?"   
  
“I don’t have mother issues," I scowled at her. “I have father issues, which happen to cross paths with my mum, every time she gives me a ring. These, take the edge off."   
  
We stood in silence for a moment, my hands unconsciously clenching and unclenching at my side. Sure, my mum spent a lot of time after Rupert left putting pressure on Wes and I, had to be the two strong men of the house; take care of mum, make sure she was alright cause Da had left her fragile and insecure. But I never thought I had anything close to resembling ‘mummy issues’.   
  
I just accepted the fact mum was a neurotic mess. Accepted her ability to weave “So what little girl has your father taken up with now, Will?" into “So how’s everything going son?" Accepted her need to bad mouth Anya, even though I kinda like the chit. I just always figured it was mum being mum and there was nothing wrong with it and that her behavior, no matter how annoying at times, didn’t bother me—   
  
Until now.   
  
I gritted my teeth and briefly shut my eyes, taking in a deep breath.   
  
“Do you play pool?" I asked suddenly, earning a look from Buffy.   
  
“Huh?"   
  
“You know, pool. Two sticks, balls with numbers and colors on them," I sighed. “Do you play?"   
  
She meekly shook her head, seemingly sensing my mood. “Nope. Never played in my life."   
  
“Wanna learn?"   
  
*************   
  
“You break, Summers."   
  
Buffy absently twirled her pool stick while she eyed the various college ponces heading in and out of the Warning. I’d forgotten: Saturday Night = Quarter Drinks which = Pimply Frat boys…   
  
“I suddenly feel very old," she grumbled. “Do I look old?"   
  
“Pet, you’re twenty-four."   
  
“I know," Buffy shrugged, “but that’s like Grad-Student old," she gasped, bringing her free hand up to her ponytail. “It’s the mom hair, right? Oh, God, I’ve got mom hair!"   
  
I shook my head, sighing. “For fuck’s sake, Buffy, you do not have mom hair! You have great, bouncy, shampoo commercial hair! Now, would you just rack the bloody balls and break already?!"   
  
She shot me a withering glance, undoing her ponytail in the process. I don’t want to sound like the wordy, poetic, Nance I once was, but the way her golden hair tumbled onto her nearly bare shoulders, covering the straps of her tank-top – (sigh) I am sounding like a wordy, poetic Nance. Let’s just say, that there was no part of this girl that could come close to being ‘Mom-like’.   
  
“Now, what did you want me to do?"   
  
I bit my lip, taking in a deep breath, trying to gather my wits again. Buffy’s a friend (of sorts), and we’re not going down that path again. That way would only lead to a) complete and utter humiliation, b) she screwing our mailman or c) she deciding to leave me for a Wiccan Lesbian.   
  
“Rack the balls, then I’ll show you how to break."   
  
Buffy quirked a brow, looking puzzled. “Rack?"   
  
“Yes, rack," I sighed. “See that brown triangle in the middle of the table? That’s called a rack. When you pack the balls into it, then lift it up, they form the shape of the triangle," I said sarcastically, waving my hands. “It’s like magic."   
  
She flipped me a bird before doing as told. Once the balls were racked, I moved behind her, carefully positioning the pool stick in her hands.   
  
“What now, teach?" she asked, turning to give me a smile. I could feel my mouth opening to give instructions, but no words were coming out. It was that bloody smell! Intoxicating, made me feel dizzy and kinda weak – Buffy was covered in it…   
  
“Do you use vanilla shampoo?" I heard myself ask her and automatically felt like throwing myself off the top of a building for being such a stupid sod.   
  
She gave me a look, nodding slowly. “Uh-huh. Is shampoo scent in any way dire to the game of pool?" Buffy snickered and positioned herself against me, locking her eyes on the cue ball.   
  
I bit my lip again and silently cursed myself. “Nope. Just curious."   
  
I’m not going down that path, no – not again.   
  
  
  
**Chapter 10**   
  
  
There are a few ever-present lessons I’ve picked up over the course of twenty-six years,   
  
*People will almost always let you down; trust no one above yourself.   
*Everything you ever needed to know about life, you can find within the pages of Catcher in the Rye (think about it).   
*Alcohol can be your best friend and your worst enemy…   
  
It was this last lesson that I had become accustomed to seeing time and time again. A pint here with my mates to celebrate graduating college; a lonely twelve pack there and every depressing, suicide-inducing album I owned to drown my sorrows in after a breakup. It lets your guard down, takes away that safety net. You’re doing things and saying things you never would’ve let out of the confines of your head when you’re sober.   
  
I’m pretty sure it was the rather pleasant swaying of her hips Buffy did during her victory dance (never played pool my ass), that caused the words “Can I buy you a drink, luv?" to come tumbling out of my mouth.   
  
What?! I am still a man, you know? Those bloody hips could bring any red-blooded male to his knees; they should be used to negotiate the Middle East Peace Agreements. I bet if they gotta load of Buffy, those blighters would finally start playing nice with each other…   
  
“Do you have any CD’s by bands who didn’t peak before 1985?" Buffy turned to smirk at me as she inspected my CD rack, and took a pull off her beer.   
  
We stayed at the Warning only a couple of hours, playing a few rounds before we decided it might be a little easier on my wallet, if we picked up a twelve pack and headed to my place.   
  
I glowered, climbing to my feet, heading towards her. “Those, pet are classics; nothing like those choreographed dancing poofters you’ve got out there today. This…" I began, gesturing towards the rack, “is real music. When bands were grungy and dirty: you just knew those blokes were fucking groupies, shooting up heroin, and getting pissed drunk all before they walked out on stage. But, of course the last ten years of your life have been filled with sodding Radio Disney tunes, so naturally, you’re musical taste is questionable."   
  
Buffy cocked her head to the side, staring at me for a moment and took another swig of the RollingRock in her hand,   
  
“The Smashing Pumpkins’ cover of ‘Never Let Me Down Again’, was the soundtrack to me losing my virginity and that was a strategic move on my part," she paused, turning back to scan the CD’s. “So, I think I know a little something about music," she finished, haughtily.   
  
“Impressive, but I still say if ‘London Calling’ isn’t a part of your collection, then you don’t know shit."   
  
Buffy shrugged. “May not own it, but I never said I couldn’t appreciate it."   
  
Now, it’s a little known fact amongst my mates, how big of a music fanatic I really am. Like every other fuckwit on the planet, I’ve got your standard CD rack sitting out in the living room, for the odd, occasional guest to thumb through. It’s a tiny glance at my massive collection, really. Since about the age of fifteen, I began hoarding albums. Trolling through the tiniest of record shops in London, looking for anything I could find. Almost everything I own is rare, virtually impossible to get now, and they’re locked away, spanning the length of two entire walls in my spare room.   
  
I grabbed Buffy’s wrist, dragging her down the hall.   
  
“Where are we going?"   
  
“I wanna show you something," I said, opening the room door. My private room, that I almost always lock when company comes over. The room I spend nights on end relaxing in with a beer and a good smoke, because Willow will never see it or smell the air in it. The room that even Xander, my best mate for Christ Sakes, didn’t have any idea what it contained, and I was opening that room for Buffy.   
  
Bloody, buggering, alcohol…   
  
I flicked the light and watched her eyes grow wide as she scanned the many shelves covering the walls: nothing but vinyl, from the floor to the sodding ceiling.   
  
“My Da left behind his old record player when he took off," I casually explained as we moved into my sacred room. “A few years later, I decided to put it to good use, started going to independent music shops and whatnot. It became a thing – obsessive collecting, I guess."   
  
“Wow…"   
  
“Go ahead, luv, name any album you can think of, I’m sure I’ve got it."   
  
Buffy took another drink, tapping her foot in a sign of deep concentration. “Okay," she smiled. “ ‘Purple Rain’."   
  
“Third shelf, second row, fifth album over," I scoffed. “Thought you were gonna make this a little more hard on me."   
  
“Alright, Mr. Wise-Ass-Music-Snob…" Buffy carefully sat down on the futon laying against the only wall in the room not covered by a shelf. “ ‘Abby Road’."   
  
“First shelf, fourth row, first album." I smirked, “I’ve also got, ‘The White Album’, and ‘Sgt. Peppers Lonely Hearts Club’ – just in case you wanted to bring those up."   
  
She chuckled, shaking her head. “Well, Spike, I am officially impressed."   
  
I smiled. “How ‘bout we hang out in here for a while and I can continue to – impress you."   
  
****************   
  
Three more beers and two whole bags of Doritos later, Buffy and I were steadily working our way through every album I owned. We were both more than a little tipsy now, but Summers was showing the effects a hell of a lot more than I was.   
  
She giggled and wadded up the empty chip bag, throwing it at my head.   
  
“You’re all out of Doritos. What kind of guy runs out of Doritos," she whined drunkenly.   
  
I scowled, playfully throwing the bag back at her. “You should be big as a fucking house with the way you eat…"   
  
She opened her mouth to speak, but I cut her off with a loud ‘Shh!’ bringing a finger to my lips. I cranked the volume on the stereo, blasting The Pixies ‘Monkey Gone to Heaven’ a little louder than one should at three in the morning.   
  
“I love this part!" I attempted to shout over the music and bobbed my head to the sound of melodic guitar.   
  
Buffy walked carefully over to the stereo, staggering a bit, and turned the volume down.   
  
“Hey! I was listening to that…"   
  
She rolled her eyes at me. “Don’t care," she stated matter-of-factly. “Listen, I’ve been wondering something like – even before I met you," Buffy scrunched her face confusedly. “Did that sentence make any sense?" she asked.   
  
I shook my head. “Not entirely."   
  
“Oh," she said, pausing for a second before shrugging. “Anyway, I was just wondering why you haven’t put out another book since Love’s Bitch. I mean, it’s been a couple years."   
  
“Lack of inspiration, plain and simple. I already wrote about all of my ex-girlfriends, nobody’ll care anymore."   
  
“Come on, Spikey!" Buffy shouted cheerfully, putting a hand on my shoulder. “You’ve got tons of issues. Hell, Giles could cover seventy-five pages alone."   
  
I laughed, shaking my head. “I’m through pissing and moaning. I wanna write something different this time around…whatever that may be."   
  
I removed the record from the player and slipped it back into its cover as a smile slowly formed on my lips. I’d almost forgotten—   
  
Quickly I grabbed the album from the shelf and put it on, turning up the volume before I faced Buffy.   
  
“Bring back any memories, Summers?" I smiled enjoying the little shimmer in her eyes as the first chords of ‘Never Let Me Down Again’ played.   
  
Her hips swayed in a slower, slightly naughtier version than they had earlier in the night, and she moved towards me, wrapping her arms around my neck.   
  
“You do dance, don’t you?" she said, the words barely above a whisper.   
  
I slipped my arms around her waist and pulled her closer. “Sometimes."   
  
Despite the muddled haze of beer and cocktails, that vanilla smell managed to make it through to my nose. It was dizzying as ever and for the first time in what felt like forever, I thought I was drowning. I was having thoughts, bad evil thoughts that consisted of me throwing Buffy down on the floor and giving her a brand new memory to go along with that song…   
  
In short, I was losing my goddamn mind.   
  
Buffy sighed contentedly, resting her head on my shoulder, and I unconsciously tightened my grip on her.   
  
“Actually," I began, breathing in nothing but vanilla, “I have been kind of inspired lately. See, I met this -- um, monkey, one morning; a total accident. Anyway, this…monkey…was a highly annoying little wanker, still is occasionally, but he’s kind of grown on me. The monkey and I have been spending lots of time together and well, just recently, I’ve gotten to know the monkey’s – uh – keeper a lot better."   
  
I closed my eyes and slowly ran a hand up and down her back. “Problem is, I’ve sworn off keepers. Done it for years without any trouble, but this one…things just feel a little less insane when this – keeper is around," I sighed. “I should just stop with the lame Keeper/Monkey thing, right? You probably see right bloody through it, so, what I’m trying to say, Buffy is – Buffy?"   
  
While I was spouting my bloody stupid, drunken ramble, I failed to notice that Buffy had completely fallen asleep in my arms. I chuckled softly as I scooped her up and carried her across the hall, depositing her in my bed, then headed out into the living room, taking a seat in front of my laptop…   
  
Suddenly, I felt compelled to write.   
  
**Chapter 11**   
  
Buffy Summers is an enigma.   
  
Glaringly self-righteous and irritating, while managing to be witty, sensitive, vulnerable, beautiful, and strong all at the same time.   
  
This woman puzzled me; she caused me to devote hours upon hours of time I could have been spending not thinking, on trying to suss her out.   
  
She interested me.   
  
In some ways I think my fascination with her was part ‘I’ve got a new best friend’ excitement and part late-night masturbation fantasy (uh, not that I ever did that when thinking about her – okay, only once). I never knew what to make of the girl or of my feelings towards her.   
  
I think it’s safe to say, I had Buffy on the brain, and that as she would so eloquently put it is ‘definitely not of the good’.   
  
The morning after our fun beerfest, I had the pleasure of being awakened at around 9:45 by sound of Buffy walking dead smack into one of the walls in my bedroom. I groaned rolling over in an attempt to get ‘comfortable’ again on my floor, and briefly clutched the side of my head. The rather loud colorful language that spilled out of her mouth had caused the almighty Thor to start pounding his fucking hammer in my head again (ah, the glory of the hangover).   
  
“Where did that wall come from?" she grumbled sleepily. “I know it wasn’t there yesterday…was it?"   
  
“From the bloody ‘wall gnome’, now shut the hell up! Some of us are trying to keep our heads from exploding over here!" I managed to shout as I rolled over again. Fucking hardwood floors—   
  
“Spike?"   
  
I cracked open an eye and caught her staring at me with complete and utter confusion. She scratched at her bed-head, opening her mouth to speak only to close it and open it again, in a perfect imitation of a fish.   
  
“Yeah?" I asked sarcastically, making a face at the ‘dead cat’ taste in my mouth.   
  
“Why are you sleeping on my floor?"   
  
I groaned again, training my one blood-shot eye on her. “Take a good look at the décor, pet. Does anything in here resemble the pastel nightmare that is your bedroom?"   
  
Buffy actually did as told, looking around my bedroom taking in the basic theme of black I had going (black dressers, black desk with a black computer atop it, black and blood red sheets on the cherry-wood bed) and turned back to face me, slowly shaking her head.   
  
“No."   
  
“Then this isn’t your floor, now is it?"   
  
She stared at me for a second before she flopped down in a heap next to me a knowing look forming on her features.   
  
“Oh…" Buffy began, running that hand through her hair again.   
  
I smirked. “I take it you remember now?"   
  
She nodded. “Uh-huh. There was pool and beer and music, and beer, then there was beer, and more beer…"   
  
“Pretty much sums it up."   
  
“And now there’s confusion and a lovely banging at the back of my skull," she sighed faintly smiling. “Gotta love the hangover."   
  
I finally willed my other eye open and managed to turn my head upwards without putting a pile of sick on my shirt. “Tell you what, luv, I’ll get you something to kill the bloke doing the hammering in your head, if you’ll cook up something like breakfast."   
  
Buffy cocked an eyebrow. “No shiny-white aspirin for Buffy unless she cooks you breakfast?! Did I wake up in 1959?"   
  
I rolled my eyes at her, smiling. “Was hoping we could compromise. You know, it’s going to be a feat in itself for me to stand without puking on my nice floor."   
  
She paused before climbing to her feet,   
  
“Point taken. How do you like your eggs?"   
  
*****************   
  
“Okay, I really had to improvise because you have a distinct lack of eatables in here," Buffy shouted, her back turned to me as I padded into the kitchen.   
  
I gripped the towel around my waist tightly and tried not to make a huge puddle on the floor as I moved around, searching for my pair of gray sweatpants. Damn things always pick the best of times to disappear on me—   
  
“I made omelets. Only, you didn’t have any onions or tomatoes, and well meat of any kind. It’s basically an egg with cheese squashed in the middle – dunno if you could technically call it an omelet."   
  
“Sounds great," I said absently, opening the pantry door. I breathed a sigh of relief when I spotted my sweats crumpled up on the bottom shelf. Only one more day until Lee gets back, maybe then I can get some bloody order around here again.   
  
“I – uh – I…" she suddenly stuttered.   
  
I turned around and was met with a wide-eyed, fairly red-faced Buffy. I gave her a look, almost feeling like a tool for having waltzed into the kitchen straight from the shower; I’d forgotten the odd amount of casual semi-nudity isn’t comfortable for every one of my mates.   
  
Buffy cleared her throat, sparing a glance back at the stove. “Wow you’re really…" she trailed off before finishing with, “do you always keep your clothes in the pantry?"   
  
I laughed. “Generally, I don’t make a habit of it. Sorry ‘bout the lack of clothing, I’m sort of used to darting around the house…"   
  
She laughed a little too quickly and a little too shrill for my tastes. Actually I’m sure, dogs all over Sunnydale were, on their way, over to my flat.   
  
“Don’t worry," Buffy gave a dismissive wave of her hand. “It’s no big."   
  
“Right, so what was that you were saying about breakfast?"   
  
“I was saying…" she began, tugging on her bottom lip with her teeth, “do you workout?"   
  
“Uh-huh," I grinned, maneuvering around her to get a peek at my eggs. “Are workout habits in any way dire to my getting breakfast this morning?"   
  
“Nope," Buffy sighed. “Just curious."   
  
*****************   
  
“You like her." Willow grinned at me, lightly tapping her foot on the floor of the elevator.   
  
I know that grin it was the Evil Willow grin. The ‘Evil Willow’ grin was something you saw on rare occasions, like when she got in a good Xander-style dumb joke, or when she was being smart ass-y and knew something that you didn’t. But mostly, the naughty grin was something I’d seen right before we would had sex accompanied by some purring, slight hair pulling and frequent use of the pet name ‘Puppy’ on her part – but that’s getting off topic…   
  
I sighed heavily, deciding to ignore the uneasy feeling the grin was giving me, and shoved my hands into my pockets,   
  
“I like who?"   
  
“Buffy."   
  
“Of course I like Buffy," I rolled my eyes. “We’re friends. I wouldn’t be friends with someone I didn’t like!" I paused, “With the exception of Cordelia, naturally."   
  
She playfully punched me in the shoulder, mock scowling.   
  
“You’re forcing me to regress to schoolyard love terms, mister." Willow pursed her lips and cooed in the most God-awful, annoying, taunting voice she could conjure up. “You, like, like her." She drew out the words for maximum annoyance.   
  
At that exact moment, my lungs decided they wanted to hurl me into a coughing fit. It had absolutely nothing to do with the taunting Willow next to me, and what she had said. A bad case of smoker’s cough is all…   
  
“I bloody well do not," I glared.   
  
Willow smiled sweetly. “You talk about her all the time…"   
  
“I talk about Xander too, doesn’t mean I want to cozy up all nice and snug and share a bubble bath with him," I snapped back and decided to keep my eyes concentrated on the glowing elevator buttons, so as not to burn a hole in Willow’s pretty little skull.   
  
“And," she continued, ignoring me, “whenever someone brings her up you get all glow-y."   
  
“I do not – glow!"   
  
“Yes you do," Willow giggled. “Cordy and I noticed it when we all hung out the other night. The second someone said the name ‘Buffy’, you’re lips would curl up into that little half-smile thing you do so well."   
  
“They did not!"   
  
She grinned evilly again and leaned in close to me, eyelids fluttering,   
  
“Bu-f-fy," Wills said, drawing out her name.   
  
I could feel the corners of my mouth surge up into a smile, and I quickly forced them back into their regular pissed off, scowling state.   
  
“What half-smile thing?!" I asked innocently and grit my teeth as she laughed again. “You know, I’m starting to regret having asked you to come along…"   
  
“How long did we date, Spike?" Willow asked, cutting me off.   
  
“Eight months."   
  
She nodded. “Mmm-hmm. And seeing as how we were together for eight months, I’ve come to consider myself a bit of an expert on you, William Giles."   
  
“Is that so?" I smiled.   
  
“Darn-tootin!" Willow pointed a finger at me. “So, don’t give me that ‘what half-smile’ bullshit. I know all about your smile and your glow-y-ness because at one time you looked at me the exact same way. Just admit it, you’ve got feelings for Buffy. If the two of you were seven and on a playground, you’d be punching her and running away, possibly pulling her hair!" She trained her eyes on mine, resolve face forming. “Admit it."   
  
I don’t consider myself to be a very religious man. There was something about people who stick end of the world videos in mailboxes and declare that their car is the one that Christ himself would drive, that always seemed a little off-putting to me, but today, some higher power was looking out for my ass.   
  
My lips curled into a smile as, I, was saved from having to answer Willow by the grace of God and the mighty ding of the elevator.   
  
Wills playfully scowled at me as we stepped into the hall of my Publisher’s office.   
  
“Don’t think you’ve wormed your way outta this one, William. We’ll talk later."

 

 

* * *

 

**A/N:** The next two weeks are going to be kind of hectic for me. I start college on the 18th and am currently in the huge process of packing up all of my shit to get ready to cram it inside of a tiny dorm. I’m going to try and update as much as I can, but I just wanted to let you know that if there’s an extended period of time where you hear nothing from me, I haven’t abandoned this fic, I’m just bogged down with class work. *Sigh* I swear, my parents and their crazy idea that I need some sort of higher education…

 

* * *

  
**Chapter 12:**

 

“No man is an island. You can be your own cruise director, schedule your own activities and pick your ports of call, but there is one thing that I have learned after many years spent excelling at the Robinson Caruso lifestyle. Island living, for all of its self-relying benefits is bloody madding in its loneliness and I didn’t want to do it anymore."

I cringed inwardly under Willow’s gaze. She had that ‘aww – puppy’ look in her eyes. As if she were about to take my face in her hands and start bloody weeping any moment. I was practically helpless as she dramatically brought a hand to her chest and heaved a great sigh –

“Oh, William…"

Oh for fuck’s sake.

“Wow, Will, this wasn’t what I was expecting at all," Oz, my publisher, spoke up, thankfully managing to stop the symphony of screams that were going on inside of my head. He tucked away the few pages of my manuscript on his desk and raised his brow in question at Willow who was dabbing her eyes and nearly convulsing.

In the world of publishers, Daniel ‘Oz’ Osborne was like a godsend. He was never concerned about making his sodding commission like all of the other, slick, corporate bastards I’d had the displeasure of being acquainted with when I was first starting out. Oz was laid back; he came to work with electric blue hair and black nail polish and played lead guitar with his band ‘Dingoes Ate My Baby’ on the weekends. The man could name every Husker Du album known to man in order and date released. He was the one stoically silent bright spot in a world full of wankers.

I smirked at him. “Thought you’d get something about how I would rather bleed from my asshole than be with another woman?"

He cracked something akin to a wry smile. With Oz, one could never be sure. The wry smile looked very much like the happy one, the sad frown, the crazed look of panic, and the constipated scrunch of discomfort.

“From you, references to rectal bleeding are to be expected," he said dryly. “But this is – the public is never going to see this coming from you. That’s potentially a good here."

“I’m just happy I managed to scribble down something that didn’t turn out a complete disaster," I sighed and regretfully spared a glance over in Wills’ direction. Her hand was resting on her chest and her eyes seemed watery – with my fucking luck, the bint really would burst into tears.

“Is she okay?" Oz asked, actually looking worried.

“Dear god," I muttered, rolling my eyes. “She’s fine, forgot to take her meds this morning is all. Pay her no attention."

“This is Buffy’s doing! It’s all Buffy!" Wills shouted suddenly, excitedly pointing at the space on my mate’s desk where my scribblings from the night before lay.

“What’s a Buffy?"

“A neighbor," I quickly told Oz before turning back to my insane friend, a frown on my lips. “And it is not her doing!"

“Yes it is!" She gave me a stern look. “Will like likes Buffy and wants her to join him on his self-imposed little island," she said casually to Oz.

“Are you at all in control of the rubbish that’s spewing out of your mouth?!"

Willow smiled. “See? Whenever he’s trying to hide something he gets really British and Rupert sounding," she paused, “kind of like he is now."

“I do not sound like my father!" I roared, nostrils flaring. I watched Willow give Oz a look before she turned back to me, patronizing grin plastered on those red lips of hers, and I resisted the very primal urge to find the bluntest object I could and beat her over the bloody head with it.

“Of course you don’t, honey," she cooed and I grit my teeth.

“I’ve been pretty damn self-reflective over the past few months, Oz. And yeah, Buffy and Liam have had a hand in it…"

“Liam?" Oz shot me something like a quizzical look, but like I said with him, it’s hard to tell. “Your island’s sorta kinky, huh?"

“Liam’s Buffy’s son," Willow handily supplied. “He’s ten, cute as a button…"

“Oh."

“But that doesn’t mean my ‘island’ includes Buffy running around in some fucking gold, string bikini!" I shouted and had to grit my teeth once again in an attempt to keep the vision of Buffy in said gold, string bikini out of my mind.

Wills smiled sweetly before pinching my cheek. “Of course it doesn’t, sweetie."

God help me.

  
****************

  
At some point, somewhere, something had drastically changed in me.

This change wasn’t just manifesting itself in my writing, but in my life in general. It was as if my final, honest declaration of not wanting to be quite so alone anymore had a snowball affect and I was beginning to see everyone and everything in a new light.

The neighborhood kids, which, I used to lovingly refer to as ‘fucking germ encrusted piles of stunted growth’ had become more endearing than annoying and I didn’t even mind when suddenly hoards of them starting showing up around my flat asking if “Spike could come out and play".

My days became divided between teaching Liam how to play football in the evenings after school and working on my book at night. Of course spending time trying to stop Lee from referring to the greatest game on the face of the planet as ‘soccer’ (bloody, buggering Americans) also meant spending more time with Buffy – by default.

Just because I was admittedly physically attracted to the girl, didn’t mean that I got some kind of weird happy whenever she decided to pop by my backyard to watch Lee and I sweat it out –

Okay, so it did give me a happy, but it wasn’t in a gross, vile way.

“You need a haircut," Buffy said absently running a hand through Liam’s long, dark locks.

“No I don’t," Lee grumbled and stuffed another spoonful of ice cream into his mouth.

After the day’s football lesson, the three of us decided to head out and cram ourselves into one of the booths at the local Coldstone Creamery. As more proof of my change, I didn’t even mind being lodged into the same, sticky ice-cream filled space as fifty or so minivan moms and dads and their perfectly blonde Aryan daughters named ‘Catlin’.

“Spike doesn’t think I need a haircut, do you, Spike?"

I gave Lee a crooked smile and snatched the cherry from atop Buffy’s hot fudge Sunday. “You are starting to look a little bit like Shaggy there, Bite-size."

Buffy playfully swatted at my hand. “Keep your mitts off my food!"

Liam shrugged. “But Shaggy’s cool." He stuffed another great, big spoonful of peanut butter fudge into his mouth and began to sway in his seat, singing. “ ‘Pass the dutchie on the left hand side – past the dutchie on the left hand side…’ mom, what’s a dutchie?"

“Uh-um…" Buffy stuttered. “You’ll find out in college, eat your ice cream."

“Do you think I’ll be good enough to get on the sixth grade team next year?" Liam asked me, dipping his spoon into my ice cream.

“Here mate," I said pushing my bowl towards him and taking his, “we’ll switch for a while. Yeah, you should be good enough. Better than good even. For a clumsy bugger, you’ve got pretty graceful footwork out there on the field."

Buffy grinned. “Wow, that was almost a compliment." She nudged Lee, laughing. “Who knows, Spike may even start hugging if we’re not careful."

“Very bloody funny."

Lee giggled, turning towards his mum, who wiped a glob of chocolate ice cream from the corner of his mouth the way only mum’s can.

“Should I ask him now?"

She shrugged. “It’s up to you."

“Ask me what?"

“There’s this thing at my school – they want our dad’s to come in and talk about what they do for a living and stuff…" Lee trailed off, swirling the spoon in the newly formed puddle of ice cream. “It’s stupid and you don’t have to – it’s just my dad can’t make it…"

I don’t consider myself to be a nice person. ‘Sweet’ William Giles was roasting comfortably in the fiery bowels of Hell for all I bloody cared so I don’t know exactly what force of nature propelled the words:

“I’ll do it, Bit"

out of my mouth but it must’ve been the fault of my sudden changes.

 

**Chapter 13:**

 

"Have you lost your fucking mind?!"

"Quite possibly…"

"I mean, you’re completely bat-shit insane, Spike!"

"I’ve realized that."

Xander paced around in front of me, I’m sure wearing a hole in my plush carpet and alternated between wringing his hands together and giving me the deadliest of looks.

"But, what the hell was I supposed to tell Lee, Xand?!" I sighed, narrowing my eyes at him. "He pulled the manipulative wide-eyes on me and practically cried ‘Be my fill-in Daddy’. I couldn’t turn the kid down!"

"So, a bunch of ten and eleven year olds are going to give you their undivided attention as you give them overviews of chapters such as ‘Mailmen Are Not To Be Trusted’ from your appropriately titled book _Loves’ Bitch_?"

That thought hadn’t actually occurred to me. I guess I was so caught up in the casual ice cream swapping, sticky floored, perfect, happy family atmosphere of the day, that I didn’t realize exactly what I had signed myself up for –

Two years ago when I was on my book tour, I frequented hundreds of college lecture halls. Had discussion after riveting discussion on what it was that ultimately compelled me to sit down in front of a computer screen and type out all of my thoughts, my feelings, my frustrations, and my endless tragedies. I owned those rooms; those kids kept me on my toes and I knew I had their distinct attentions and interest.

But the comprehension gap between a twenty-two year old college senior and, an, eleven year old elementary school fifth grader was as wide as the goddamn Grand Canyon…

I know times have changed somewhat since I was that age, but I’m pretty sure eleven year olds aren’t into discussing how one is an ‘enabler of their own intimacy problems’.

My head fell into my hands as I grumbled loudly,

"Bloody fucking hell…"

"My sentiments exactly," Xander snorted and plopped down on the couch next to me, grabbing up my remote like he lived in the place. "Is Password on yet?"

"I’m going to be surrounded by Firemen and Police with their buggering drug-sniffing dogs," I moaned. "And with my luck, a sodding Astronaut back from drinking bloody Tang on his bloody space station will probably swing round just to hand out patches to the kids and show them videos of him being fucking weightless and all that! Of course there’ll be a carpenter, who’ll construct a whole goddamn state-of-the-art playground right before their very little eyes…."

Xand gave me a look. "So Career Day now includes the Village People?"

"And what did I do?" I continued to ramble, ignoring him. "Wrote a book…"

"A very good book."

"Big sodding deal!" I sighed, "I’ll be the most boring nance up there."

Xander gave me a reassuring pat on the back. "You’re not boring, Spike. You are the least boring person I know. Mainly because you’re so screwed up – but still, neuroticism keeps things interesting."

"Bloody fucking hell…"

"Again," Xander smiled wearily, "gonna have to echo those sentiments."

 

  
  
  
  
  
 **Chapter Fourteen**  
  
  
  
  
**   
  
Author’s Note: Sorry about the wait, but I wanted to devote a little of my time on some of my newer fics *sigh, the writing bug never stops does it*. But, I promise to have regular updates for AAB from now on. *Puts a hand to my ear in hopes of hearing screams of joy, instead hears one lone cough and the echo of crickets…*   
  
And a special thanks to Hazel_Nut who helped out when I was completely stuck with this chapter *bear hugs Hazel*.   
  
**   
  
If I didn’t choose to be such a bastard, it would simple things up in my life so much more.   
  
If I’d only had it in me to give a hardy laugh and some fucking stupid Ward Clever smile, with a "those crazy kids" rolling off my tongue the second Lee’s mate put that ball through my window, then I wouldn’t be stuck in this shithole position once again.   
  
But no, the healthy sadist in me roared and wanted to disembowel the guilty, little fucker, wanted to scare them so badly, that they’d never want to step foot out of their bedrooms let alone play bloody baseball ever again –   
  
If for once I could of held off on my dickhead tendencies, Buffy and Lee would have never waltzed into my life and everything would be exactly the way it always had. By being a royal asshole, I succeeded in overcomplicating my very existence.   
  
In short: Buffy Anne Summers was lucky #13 on the ever-growing list of women I would act a damn fool over.   
  
"Lets give Commander Abrahams another round of applause!"   
  
I cringed and slumped down in my seat as the screams and cheers for that wallie Abrahams echoed in my ears. Unfortunately, I decided to look towards my right and caught Xander’s attempt at a sympathetic smile.   
  
Goofy, mocking, sardonic as all hell, that smile was anything but sympathetic.   
  
He shrugged. "Who knew there really would be an astronaut in the class?" Xander snorted, shaking his head. "Those kids were totally bored, you could see it in their eyes! You see the chubby one over there in the corner, I caught him nodding off through Commander Abrahams’ ‘Weightless in Space’ video about five times. What the hell kind of name is Parker anyway…?"   
  
"Shut up, Xander," I grumbled.   
  
"Excuse me, Mr. Giles, can I have a word with you for just a minute?"   
  
Lee’s teacher was everything I feared she would be. The dowdy, slightly, overweight kind of bint with at least ten cats at home and one of those Fabio, supermarket romance novels glued to her bleeding hand. Best of all, she had read my book cover to cover. Had all of her favorite passages highlighted and memorized and wanted me to autograph some picture of me straight off a plane in an airport, that she’d cut out of a tabloid –   
  
"Of course you can."   
  
I eased out of my chair and made a mental note to look into the restraining order filing procedure as I followed her outside of the classroom.   
  
"Mr. Giles," she began smiling, "you know I’m a huge fan of yours."   
  
"Yeah," I nodded, "caught on to that fact after the first thirty two times you told me…"   
  
She laughed. "Right, right – and though I’m extremely honored to have you in my classroom, well, just standing in front of you is an honor…"   
  
"Thank you…"   
  
"I just," she paused, frowning suddenly, "I don’t think the material in Loves Bitch is appropriate for a fifth grade class to hear," chuckling she put a hand on my shoulder. "I mean, even the title’s a little too much."   
  
I managed to shrug out from under her mitts without being overly rude and let out the fakest laugh I could muster,   
  
"You’re quite right."   
  
"But, I would love it if you stayed for our Career Day…"   
  
Looking through the tiny window on the classroom door, I caught a glimpse of Liam. Just six months ago, I would have gladly taken this get out of jail free card, and hightailed it down the maze of stick figure drawings and pictures of rainbows that is a primary school hallway. But now – I had made a promise, told him that I would play the father figure just for today so that he wouldn’t feel left out and I couldn’t let him down.   
  
I was so screwed.   
  
"Um, Mrs. Barrett…" I began.   
  
"Ms. Barrett," she quickly corrected. "I’m not married you know." The bint’s eyes had this half leer, half crazed look in them; it was enough to make my skin crawl…   
  
"Right, of course you’re not," I muttered. "Ms. Barrett, if you wouldn’t mind, I would still like to do something for the class. See – I kind of promised Liam that I would…I’ll keep it strictly G-rated," I put my hand over my heart, "swear on my mum’s life."   
  
**   
  
"Alright, our next speaker is Mr. William Giles…"   
  
As I walked the tiny little path in between the desks, I felt very much like a death row inmate being lead down the ‘Green Mile’ towards his certain death. I could feel their beady, little eyes burning holes into my back and it took every ounce of strength in my body not to run out of that room screaming…   
  
A lecture hall filled to the brim with three hundred people I could do fine, but an elementary classroom of about twenty had me on the verge of passing out.   
  
"Mr. Giles is a published author," Ms. Barrett prattled on. "I’m sure many of your parents, especially your mothers…" She turned and gave me that skin-crawling grin after the word ‘mothers’, "have read it."   
  
"Bring back Commander Abrahams!"   
  
"Yeah!"   
  
Who would’ve guessed it would’ve taken a sodding eleven-year-old to crush every measure of self-esteem I’d managed to build up.   
  
I swallowed the hardened lump in my throat and threw a helpless glance in Xander’s direction. Like a true git, he couldn’t even make eye contact with me; he merely coughed, scratched his head and turned away…   
  
I knew I should have brought Willow…   
  
"We want Commander Abrahams!"   
  
"Please bring back the astronaut!"   
  
I could feel tiny beads of sweat breaking out on my forehead –   
  
Fucking Abrahams and his fucking zero gravity adventures…   
  
Fucking Liam Sr. for being a high and mighty absentee father…   
  
And fucking me for letting my inner, sensitive wanker surface long enough to attempt to impress a beautiful girl and her son…   
  
"Hey! Spike’s the best storyteller I know!" That lone voice of support came from Liam (fucking un-supportive best friend, Xander…) who, looked at me with such hopeful eyes. "Aren’t you, Spike?"   
  
I opened my mouth and only managed a squeak in response.   
  
"Then tell us a story if you’re so good…"   
  
I took a deep breath, narrowing my eyes. The pudgy bastard in the corner of the room that Xander had pointed out earlier, who had been reduced to riveted silence all throughout Abrahams’ presentation was now the goddamn mouthpiece for my shame and complete humiliation. A brief fantasy involving me bashing his tiny skull in with the history book on his desk was pushed aside; I instead, took another deep breath, moving from behind the podium and grabbed Ms. Barrett’s chair, rolling it out in front of the desks.   
  
"Alright," I began taking a seat, "what are you Bit’s waiting on, gather round."   
  
I tuned out the sound of desks and chairs scraping across the bare floor and concentrated on pulling a good story out of my ass: no outline, no first draft, and no time for my anal retentive, perfectionist crap.   
  
Lee gave me a supportive smile as I leaned forward and opened my mouth, blurting out the first thing that came to mind –   
  
"Any of you ever heard of ‘The Scourge of Europe?’"   
  
"No…"   
  
"What’s that…?"   
  
I smirked, lowering my voice. "I’m surprised – you should all have heard this story." I shrugged and leaned back against the chair. "Oh well, if you haven’t heard it by now, it’s probably because it’s way to terrifying for such young ones like yourselves…."   
  
"Hey! We’re not too young!"   
  
I smiled; it seemed as if I had offended Pudgy Bastard…   
  
"Tell us the story, Mr. Spike."   
  
"I dunno. Wouldn’t want any of you getting nightmares…" I paused, a mock thoughtful expression on my face. "You all really think you’re old enough to hear this tale?"   
  
"Yes!" they answered in unison.   
  
I leaned forward again, hands on my knees, and I smiled as I settled into that cliché storyteller mode.   
  
"Once upon a time…"   
  
**   
  
"…So, he’s got the hubby by the throat…"   
  
"D—Does he let him live?"   
  
I smiled an evil smile and titled my head towards the meek little girl who’d asked that question. "What do you think?" I said dropping my voice a couple of octaves. I let the uneasy climate in the room further marinate with that comment before I slipped back into my hastily thrown together tale of terror without missing a beat.   
  
"But then, he realized someone was missing. Supposedly a little girl – no bigger than any of you, really. He got real quiet, strained his ears, and that’s when he heard it. This tiny noise coming from the coal bin. This little sigh…" I locked eyes with that same meek, little girl, "it’s very, very quiet…"   
  
And that’s when the loud, not – very pleased sound of Buffy clearing her throat caught my attention.   
  
I whipped my head up and came face to face with her; standing at the back of the room with Harris, her arms folded, she raised that threatening eyebrow at me and I gave in completely…   
  
"And what happened?! What did he do next?!"   
  
"Yeah, what happened!"   
  
"Don’t stop there!"   
  
"Um…" I slunk back in my seat, head dropping at Buffy’s disapproval, "well, he – uh, he heard her in the coal bin, right. So, he, um…he took her out and – and gave her to a good home, nice family where they were never mean to her and he didn’t lock her in a coal bin."   
  
I spotted Pudgy Bastard’s face screwing up and braced myself.   
  
"What?!" he screamed. "That’s so lame!"   
  
**   
  
"Jesus Christ, woman! You’ve been giving me that evil eye all night, can’t it take a break?!"   
  
Buffy frowned. "Gee, which one of us is going to be up all night with the screaming ten-year-old who thinks he’s been locked in a coal bin?"   
  
I smiled sheepishly and shrugged my shoulders as I followed she and Liam into the house.   
  
"I said I was sorry."   
  
"I will not be up screaming!" Lee pouted, flinging his backpack in the corner of the room. "The story wasn’t even that scary…"   
  
She gave him a look. "This coming from the boy who was terrified of the lady on the pancake syrup bottle until he was eight."   
  
Liam paled. "What? Mrs. Butterworth was creepy. Besides, Auntie Dawn told me that right before we all come down for breakfast, Mrs. Butterworth climbs off of the bottle and sharpens all of the knives in the kitchen and…"   
  
"Run upstairs and put your PJ’s on," Buffy laughed shaking her head, "it’s late and the further you go with that story, the more reasons I have to kill your aunt."   
  
"It’s not that late…" Lee sulked as he slowly headed towards the stairs.   
  
"It’s 9:30 and a school night – you’re lucky I let Spike and Xander keep you out at the PutPut course for that long."   
  
"But, I wanna watch a movie! Can I stay up long enough to watch one movie with Spike, pretty, please?" He threw a helpless look in my direction, begging for my support.   
  
"Don’t look at me, Bit," I shook my head and pointed at Buffy, "I’m totally in the dog house with this one, no way I can help you."   
  
She looked back and forth between us for several minutes before she sighed and throwing her hands up in the air. "Oh, alright!"   
  
"Yes!" Liam shouted racing up the stairs. "I get to choose the movie!"   
  
"But just one – no conning mommy into a second or a third! And you go straight to bed right after!" Buffy shouted after him.   
  
"So," I began grinning, "for the record, Mrs. Butterworth always looked kind of shifty to me, too."   
  
She chortled. "Gotta love my sister. I think because she’s the baby and didn’t have anyone smaller to torture, she’s taking it out on my son."   
  
"Let me guess, you also told her breakfast tales of terror?" I laughed.   
  
She smiled wickedly. "Once, I told her the powder on French Toast was ground up monkey feet."   
  
I nodded and gave her a look. "You Summers women are a depraved lot, aren’t ya?"   
  
"Oh yeah."   
  
That strange level of comfort crept upon me again, allowing me to toss aside reality and give into a healthy slice of delusion.   
  
At some point during 'A Nightmare Before Christmas' I’d ended up with my legs lazily stretched out on the couch and with Buffy resting comfortably against me, a huge bowl of popcorn in her lap. While, Liam curled up on the floor in front of us and pretended not to be asleep.   
  
It was this perfect picture of familial bliss that led to my imagination running wild. For just a moment, Liam was my son, and Buffy was my wife and life was a bloody bowl full of cherries…   
  
"Did I thank you for today?" she asked stuffing a handful of popcorn into her mouth.   
  
"Well, yeah," I slipped a hand around her waist, aiming for the bowl and deftly left it there a moment longer than it should have been before snatching up a few kernels, "but don’t let that stop you from doing anything else you feel necessary."   
  
Buffy rolled her eyes, smiling. "Seriously, despite scaring the hell out of a bunch of fifth graders, you were great today. And I know how much you hate being known as a good guy, so, I’ll stop being all schmoopy."   
  
"There’s nothing wrong with ‘schmoopy’ especially when it involves praise for me," I grinned and eased that hand around her waist again. "Go ahead, kitten, be ‘schmoopy’. Don’t let me stop you."   
  
"Ego maniac."   
  
"Proud of it."   
  
"I should probably put him to bed, huh?" Buffy asked, tilting her head, up towards me and then down at Liam.   
  
"You’ve been ‘mummy’ for ten years and now you’re asking for my advice?"   
  
She shrugged. "I just don’t wanna get up. How horrible is that?"   
  
"It’s not horrible," I chuckled.   
  
"Yes it is. I’m willing to leave my only child on the cold floor because I’m comfortable – I’m terrible. He could get pneumonia…"   
  
"First of all, it’s 80 degrees outside – and second, I’m sure that thick, plush carpeting you’ve got down there is working to keep the ‘cold’ out. Pneumonia would be impossible."   
  
Buffy narrowed her eyes at me in mock anger. "You’re making fun of me."   
  
I smiled. "A little bit, yeah."   
  
"You know, if I were evil I would bring up Ms. Barrett pinching your ass on the way out of the class this afternoon."   
  
My mouth dropped open and she gave me that wicked smile.   
  
"And you thought I didn’t see that."   
  
It was my turn to narrow my eyes. "That cow should be put away for all eternity…"   
  
She laughed and patted my cheek patronizingly. "Aww, poor Spikey. He can’t help it if he’s just so darn sexy."   
  
Again, it might’ve been the ‘bowl full of cherries’ delusion I was stuck in, but I was suddenly feeling right bold. I didn’t want to hold back everything like I’d done so many other times. Somehow I managed to play it cool and I didn’t even need C&C Music Factory to build up my courage –   
  
"You think I’m sexy?" I smirked.   
  
Buffy’s eyes widened. "No! I didn’t mean it like that – I…"   
  
I nodded, smiled, then leaned in and kissed her.   
  
Quick, closed mouth, sweaty palms, I felt like I was a bleeding fourteen-year-old nance all over again. Buffy stared at me like deer caught in the headlights of a redneck’s pickup truck and it felt like an excruciatingly painful millenium had gone by before I was able to mutter:   
  
"I’m – uh sorry ‘bout that." If I wasn’t a wanker before…   
  
Finally, she blinked – a sign she was still fucking alive.   
  
Pulling her lips in for a second a thoughtful look crossed her face.   
  
"Don’t be."   
  
I won’t be cliché. Fireworks didn’t explode and Beethoven’s Fifth didn’t ring in my ears and all that rot, but Buffy kissed me back and my stomach did this wonderful little floppy thing…   
  
That’s the closest I bloody get to cliché.   
  
Slow at first, our lips kind of fumbling over each others; a cautious first kiss between two people who were used to things going to shit afterwards. Deciding to go for broke I pulled her closer and ran my tongue across her bottom lip. There was this heavenly mix of popcorn and Cherry Coke on her lips, and I smiled into the kiss like the dopey sod that I am when she opened her mouth for me.   
  
One would think with all of my wisdom, that I would be prepared for the possible moment my utter happiness and contentment kicked me in the balls farewell…   
  
But oh no…   
  
I was here with Buffy Summers’ hot, little tongue in my mouth…   
  
Wise!Spike was nowhere to be found…   
  
She pulled away and took in a deep breath giving me an uncharacteristic coquettish smile.   
  
"I guess this changes a few things."   
  
I opened my mouth to speak, but a loud knock at the front door quickly cut me off.   
  
Buffy curiously raised a brow. "Okay – the only person who would knock on my door at eleven at night is already here…"   
  
//Knock, Knock, Knock…//   
  
She gently set the popcorn bowl down on the floor before she climbed off of the couch and pulled me up with her.   
  
"Oi! Why do I have to get up, it’s your door their knocking on."   
  
"In case this is a psychopath and I need you to do something manly, like wrestle him to the ground."   
  
//Knock, Knock, Knock…//   
  
"I can let out a manly shriek if you want," I smiled, grabbing her hand, "perhaps a bellow."   
  
Buffy shook her head opening the door. "You’re completely hopeless…"   
  
The second she froze at the sight of him, I knew this was worse than opening the door to some sick fuck with a butcher knife or a whole gang of clowns...   
  
Hands shoved in his jean pockets he gave us a lopsided, uneasy smile. "Buffy."   
  
"Angel," she breathed and dropped my hand like a ton of bricks.   
  
My happy ‘bowl full of cherries’ delusion crumbled in that instant and the ‘bowl full of shit’ reality that was life returned with a bloody vengeance.   
  
**Chapter 15**  
  
Author’s Note: Egads! That was an evil cliffhanger of death, wasn’t it? What’s even more evil is the wait I put you guys through, and I’m sincerely sorry about that. But, I’m shirking all sorts of responsibilities (namely a 6+ page sociology paper) to give you guys a new chapter cause I feel so bad about the lack of updates. I hope to have more coming your way next week, since it’s Thanksgiving break for me, and I will definitely be an updating machine through December (Winter break—whoohoo!). Thanks for being patient and for sticking with me…now enjoy!

* * *

  
  
Deep, calming, soothing breaths – that was the three-hundred and fifty dollar an hour advice I got from this therapist once upon a time when I was bug-shagging crazy enough to think my problems could be wrestled by weeping to a professional.   
  
"Count to ten, William, take deep, calming, soothing breaths, and walk away from the problem instead of confronting it head on."   
  
For the record, deep, soothing breaths amount to nothing more than a crock of shit when your eyeballs are boiling in their sockets.   
  
I watched Angel make a move to step inside, that awkward, half-smile still plastered on his face – and I did what any other, good man in my position would’ve done:   
  
"So, you’re the infamous Angel…" I began, moving a shell shocked Buffy out of the way, "bloody good to finally meet you, mate!" Giving him my friendliest smile, I positioned my hand on the door. "Well, nice of you to drop by and all; wish you could stay."   
  
And slammed it in his poncy, fucking face.   
  
Two tons of soulful, brooding puppy drowned, in a lame fashion sense and a vat of Gigia Hold describes the great Liam Leery Sr. in a bloody nutshell. Just looking at him, I could tell he was the sort of sensitive bastard girls swoon over – dark hair, penetrating brown eyes, all forehead and muscles; fucking puppy-love personified, this one – hell, if I were a fourteen year old girl I’d soil my panties over the wanker…   
  
"Spike!" Buffy glared at me before snatching the door open.   
  
An irrational hope that, that poofter might’ve disappeared into a wonderful thin air was quickly defeated; Angel was still standing there, hands still shoved in his pockets, and wounded animal look still on his face. I’d forgotten God doesn’t make people disappear into thin air, no matter how hard you pray or how many times you offer to stick his name on the "Thank You" page in your next book.   
  
"Angel – what are you doing here?" she asked him in that breathy voice. What is it with the breathy voice and this guy?! My mere presence never reduced Buffy to the breathy voice.   
  
"Well, I…" Angel began, taking a step forward. He paused suddenly and turned his attention on me, "who’s he?"   
  
My eyes narrowed and I threw him a nasty smirk. "The bloody babysitter."   
  
"That’s what you think you are to me?!" Buffy gave me a look of disbelief.   
  
Insane jealousy and rage subsiding for a moment, I could feel my features soften as I looked her straight in the eye. "What am I to you, luv?"   
  
"Are you dating this guy?!"   
  
"We were in the process of figuring that out, mate, until a certain person didn’t feel the need to telephone before his visit…"   
  
"I’m not your ‘mate’. Buffy…"   
  
"It –It’s complicated," she sighed heavily before giving the ex a weak smile and politely shoving him out of the doorway. "Could you excuse us, please? Thank you," she finished quickly and closed the door in his face.   
  
"The ‘bloody babysitter’?!"   
  
Most women, I’ve found, like to make you guess whether or not you’ve pissed them off. Give you the short non-committal phrases, the tiresome silent treatment, or the worst, agreeing to everything you say or want to do with no sort of argument whatsoever – a snake rattle should follow that one. But, with Buffy, I never had to guess whether or not I’d done something not exactly to her liking; the second her hands made it to her hips, I automatically knew I was in deep shit.   
  
"All this time we’ve spent together and that’s the best English accent you can do?" I winced, "I’m deeply ashamed, pet."   
  
"Don’t! Don’t do that!" Buffy snapped. "You don’t get to do that!"   
  
I raised a brow. "Do what?"   
  
"Be a – a dope, and a bonehead!"   
  
"Yeah, well at least I’m not being shirty!"   
  
"Shirty?" she gave me a look. "Is that even a real word?"   
  
" ‘Oh, Angel…" I gasped in a mock falsetto and dramatically brought a hand to my chest, "it’s complicated now that you and your enormous forehead have galloped back into my life’."   
  
"And this is all simple to you?!"   
  
"It’s very bloody simple! You send him packing and you and me pick up where we left off…"   
  
"I can’t do that," Buffy sighed. "Spike, you know I can’t do that." She flashed me a small smile. "He’s the father of my unconscious child."   
  
"Yeah, I know," I said with a sigh of my own.   
  
"All I want to do is see why he decided to drop in – no plans to run off with the man and get married, I promise."   
  
"And we’ll talk later?"   
  
Smiling warmly, Buffy put her hand in mine, entwining our fingers. "Definitely later."   
  
I’m pretty sure it took the strength of ten men – ten right wallies to be exact, for me not grab her up then and there and drag her upstairs like a caveman, never to be heard from again.   
  
Instead, I nodded and smiled back.   
  
**   
  
"I knew it! I knew it!"   
  
I looked up briefly at Willow and grumbled, "Yeah, you were right, okay! I like-like Buffy. I more than like-like Buffy – do you want a sodding cookie?"   
  
She frowned, plopping down on the couch next to me. "No need to take your bad fortune out on me, Mr. Grumpy-Pants."   
  
I sighed. "I’m sorry, Wills – it’s just, she’s over there with that pinhead…"   
  
"How do you know Angel’s a pinhead? You barely met the guy…"   
  
"I can tell."   
  
"Ohh."   
  
"They’re doing god knows what…"   
  
"I’m sure it’s just talking…"   
  
"And I’m sitting here like a wanker waiting on her to ‘come-a-callin’! I swore to myself that I wouldn’t do this any more! Spike’s already had his fill of bloody bints   
driving him round the bend!"   
  
Willow gave me that supportive best friend smile that she’s so great at; that smile’s the very reason why I always call on her in a time of crisis instead of that whelp Xander. "It’s pretty hard to shut out all emotions when you’re probably the most emotional person on the planet."   
  
I chortled. "Was that supposed to help?"   
  
"Not sure," she shrugged with a grin. "But, hey – here’s something that might. Well, it’ll give you something to do besides driving yourself crazy waiting on Buffy. It’s the company kareoke night – I usually make Xander and Cordy suffer through it, but it might make you feel better to watch my bosses make asses of themselves."   
  
"You have got to be kidding," I snickered.   
  
"Come on! Kareoke’s a great time killer…"   
  
"I think you’re confusing the word ‘time’ with the word ‘soul’, Willow."   
  
Willow looked at me sternly, resolve face etched on. "You have exactly thirty minutes to get ready."   
  
**   
  
Usually when one thinks of kareoke, I’m sure images of drunken sorority girls and tiny Japanese businessmen come to mind; and as horrific as those images are, they are nothing compared to the terrifying reality that is computer programmers and kareoke.   
  
//"Oh I, I will survive! Oh as long as I know how to love, I know I’ll be all right!"//   
  
"Loren’s really good. Don’t you think Loren’s really good, Spike?"   
  
Willow’s inner nerd, I’m sure, is responsible for leading her to work in a sodding social leper colony and Clearasil advert all rolled into one. I counted about five people in our little group of ten wearing OneRing.Com T-shirts, but the guy Andrew, who decided to make me his talking buddy for the night, was possibly the forefather of all of nerdom.   
  
Squeaky, little voice, bad hair, an annoying face that scrunched up all the time topped off with a stylish Use The Force tee; this boy latched onto me the minute Willow and I showed up outside of the bar asking me all kinds of stupid questions…   
  
"Wow, you’re British?! Have you ever met Dr. Who?"   
  
"Your hair’s really cool, what kind of product do you use?"   
  
"Can I try on your coat?"   
  
I concentrated on my Jack and Coke and grumbled a response to the git. "Yeah, he’s good – the bleeding second coming of Gloria Gainer."   
  
//"I’ve got all my life to live and I’ve got all my love to give! I will survive! I will survive! Hey! Hey!"//   
  
"Are you gonna sing next?"   
  
I gave him a very pointed look. "I don’t sing."   
  
"Oh," Andrew sighed. "That’s too bad. So, uh – Willow tells me you’re a writer…"   
  
"Something like that, yeah."   
  
"I’m a writer too," he beamed, "well, I mostly specialize in um – Harry Potter slash fanfiction. Harry and Ron are the next literary super couple."   
  
I quickly downed the rest of my drink. I had this sinking feeling that this night was only going to get longer, much longer…   
  
//"I will survive! Hey! Heeeeyyyy!"//   
  
  
  
  
**Chapter 16**   
  
_"He was a Skater Boy – she said se ya later boy – he wasn’t good enough for her…"_  
  
Somewhere between Andrew’s stirring renditions of Avril Lavigne songs and his riveting Cher power medley (really, you’ve never heard ‘Gypsies, Tramps, and Thieves’, until you’ve heard it done by Andrew Leesak: Potentially Gay Computer Programmer), I passed out in a blazing glory. Head surrounded by a multitude of shot glasses – this could very well be looked at as my lowest point…   
  
Lower than not being good enough for Cecily…   
  
Somehow worse than walking in on Dru legs akimbo.  
I had it in my head that I’d lost Buffy before I even got a bloody chance, and singing nerds, soundtracking the whole event only made a horrible situation fucking unbearable.   
  
"See, this is fun, isn’t it? Told ya it would be fun…" Good ole Willow chimed in, bubbly voice cutting a swath through the liquored mess that was my brain. All I could manage was a groan and rolled my head to the side, silently hoping Wills would take pity on me and split it open like a melon.   
  
"God, Spike, are you _still_ moping?!"   
  
"No," I lied."   
  
_"Sorry girl but you missed out – well tough luck that boy’s mine now…"_   
  
Another groan escaped my lips and I think I could actually hear Willow roll her eyes,   
  
"Buffy said you’ll talk later, jeez learn to deal and quit thinking the worst."   
  
"I _am_ dealing! This is me dealing, Red." I got a lovely rush of blood to the head when Willow yanked me up by the collar of my shirt. "Oi, woman!" My cheeks puffed out in an attempt to stop the vomit before it had a chance to refill my empty glasses. "Depressed, drunk bloke over here! No sudden movements…"   
  
"She likes you, dumbass," Willow said sternly, pointing her little finger in my face. "That fact has been painfully obvious since that day Cordy, Xander, and I met her at the Espresso Pump! Angel’s Liam’s father and guess what Spanky, if you really think Buffy’s worth coming off your little island for, Angel’s gonna be a part of your life! You’ll see him at Christmas, he’ll drop by for Easter – he may even pop up at random soccer games and school plays. That’s what happens when you date a woman with a child – so you can’t _freak out_ every time the daddy comes to town!" Willow grabbed my cheeks and smashed them together. "No _freaking_ out!"   
  
"All right," I said, muffled through squished cheeks, "no ‘freaking out’."   
  
_"Who wants to hear ‘Complicated’?"_  
 _"Get off the stage, douche bag!"_   
  
Willow smiled. "Good. Now get your cute ass up there and sing me something pretty." She punctuated that sentence with a slap to my thigh. I didn’t exactly hide my shock from the action and Willow simply shrugged and gave me a goofy grin. "The mudslide’s making me a little punchy."   
  
**   
  
With what I assumed to be a vote of confidence from Wills ringing in my ears, I took a taxi home (sadly not before witnessing Andrew being dragged of stage, kicking and screaming the lyrics to ‘Complicated’). Instead of stumbling my way inside of my humble abode, I ended up drifting off of the walk and onto the lawn where I promptly collapsed in a big, drunken heap.   
  
What can I say? Grace is my sodding middle name.   
  
I never would’ve guessed it, but apparently the combination of tequila in your system and dirt clods in your goddamn hair leads one on a path of self-reflection and discovery.   
  
_She’s worth it._   
  
Spending various – nothing short from painful Christian holidays with the ex, one upping him on the coolness of birthday presents…   
  
Fighting through the uncertainty of whether or not a romantic relationship between us would work…   
  
Being the primary father figure to a ten-year-old, I’ve found despite my better judgement, I care about more than anything in this world, and at the selfish age of twenty-six even…   
  
It was all worth it.   
  
Tonight I packed my bags, put out the bonfire, and made the unsteady climb from the safety net of _William Giles’ Island of no Feeling_ to the boat waiting for me just at the edge of the shore. I was really going to do this – I was really going to scarily dive head first into something that could potentially blow up in my fucking face – leave the shrapnel embedded in my skin and all that rot…   
  
But the alternative – playing the ‘what if’ game for the rest of my bloody life to me, in that moment was more terrifying than taking a chance on my feelings.   
  
"For better or worse…" I said aloud with a snort and that, nice sobering thought was my last before the alcohol finally won out, and everything went black.   
  
**   
  
"Spike? Spike…?"   
  
Cracking one, bloodshot eye open I was pleasantly awakened to the sight of Super Forehead standing over me. I blinked and he gave me one of those awkward smiles he seemed so goddamn good at,   
  
"Are you okay?" he asked.   
  
It isn’t illegal to shoot trespassers in the state of California is it? "Do I look okay?" I snapped and made a face – lovely, dead cat taste at home in my mouth once again.   
  
"You want the truth?" Angel smiled smugly.   
  
"No need," I shook my head and Prince Valiant helped me to my feet. "What are you – why the hell is my front door open?" I had no memory of somehow sliding across the sod to open my door and the lovely print of my body in my lawn told me I hadn’t exactly done much moving last night.   
  
"I um – was waiting on you to come home last night…"   
  
"How sweet of you," I replied dryly.   
  
"Buffy told me you keep a spare key under your door mat," Angel paused thoughtfully, "you know, that’s really not a safe place to put a spare…"  
I frowned.   
  
"Yeah, I’ve heard. Get to the part where you break and enter…"   
  
He laughed nervously. "I didn’t exactly plan on needing a place to stay when I got here."   
  
"Thought you could shack up with the former misses?" I snorted and he gave me a look before continuing,   
  
"And Buffy said you wouldn’t mind if I spent a couple nights with you."   
  
I spared a glance in the direction of my garage. Yeah, just as I expected – there were no signs declaring _Holiday Inn_ or _Wanker-Ex Storage_ , hanging above it.   
  
"If all goes well, I might be out of your hair tonight." He smiled. "But, you know Buffy needs time to think – which is, you know, understandable…"   
  
"Think about what, exactly?"   
  
"Whether or not she’ll have me back," he sighed. "Spike, my boy, you never realize what a good thing have until it packs up its things and walks out that door."   
  
The seconded I felt blood trickle down my of my throat, I figured it would best to remove my teeth from the meat of my jaw. "Is that a fact?" I grounded out.   
  
"Oh yeah." Angel nodded solemnly.   
  
"You pick up that bit of information in therapy?" My snicker and good jab were wasted when the wally smiled at me.   
  
"Dr. Mathers – helped me learn how to be more open and sensitive to others needs. In the past I was…" the nutter paused and shook his head as if he couldn’t bear the thought of what he was about to say. Buffy really let this nance touch her… "Closed off. Brood-y – I heard that one a lot…"   
  
"Right…"   
  
"But, I’m a new man!" Angel exclaimed slapping me on the back. "And I can’t imagine my life without her."   
  
"Neither can I, Hair gel," I mumbled.   
  
"Huh?"   
  
"I said I understand."   
  
"Oh," he pauses, "so, about my staying here…"   
  
Like a sign from god it dawned on me – with, Low Slopping Forehead staying under my roof I could keep an eye on him, and work on keeping him as far away from Buffy as humanly possible…   
  
"Angel," I began, putting a friendly hand on his shoulder, "stay as long as you need to mate."   
  
  
  
  
**Chapter 17**   
  
Author’s Note: Remember that little Angel Season 1 episode ‘Sense and Sensitivity’, where Angel is reduced to a rainbow loving, touchy feel-y guy? For some reason, to me, this stuck out as being one of the funniest things ever and the Angel characterization you see here comes from that.

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I was a genius.   
  
A bleeding god among men – or so I thought.   
  
In my head, this half-cocked, fly-by-night plan to keep Angel away from Buffy was a series of carefully drawn battle maps and strategies all akin to the goddamn invasion of Normandy.   
  
_The Battle of Revello_ , I silently dubbed it while lying awake in my bed trying to fend off a massive hangover. This was the sort of thing that required great generals like Grant or Lee. It screamed for a Winston Churchill type. Hell, even, a weasel-y George Bush Sr. puking on dignitaries while setting Kuwaitie oil fields on fire was needed in this fight.   
  
And if I were all of these people, then Angel would _have_ to be Hitler, Stalin, Pol Pot, Richard Nixon, and Jennifer Lopez all rolled into one. A true Axis of Evil.   
  
The enemy was right in my own backyard. Or as it were on that particular morning, sitting at my kitchen table gingerly sipping on some pussy, International Coffees vanilla nutmeg blend, and listening to self-help tapes. I don’t know what the wanker was like pre – ‘hug and kiss/share and grow’ phase, but it couldn’t have been any more horrible or half as annoying than the Dr. Phil quoting, Depac Chopra loving jerkoff wasting air in my home.   
  
“Today will be a _great_ day!” I heard Angel recite as I peeked, my head out of my bedroom. Hangover and still present urge to vomit everything I had ever eaten aside, I figured I needed to be up and about. Studying the fucker’s habits and whatnot – couldn’t sleep on the job and let the prancing nance sneak up and invade my territory…   
  
But a sudden overpowering feeling of self doubt and the smell of patchouli sent me scurrying back inside.   
  
Magnificently brilliant plans of action aside, I hadn’t taken into account the possibility Buffy might not want me at all – and could anyone really blame her? I was as she put it once ‘a therapist’s wet dream’ and relationships were bleeding complicated enough without having a slightly emotionally unavailable basket case to carry on your back like dead weight.   
  
In two months, I’d be twenty-seven years old and I had yet to have a committed, loving relationship.   
  
It could have been the traces of alcohol still left in my system or maybe I had finally gone off my sodding rocker. But as I paced my bedroom floor (damn near wearing a hole in it) _every_ girlfriend I’d ever had in my sad, little life was right there with me.   
  
**Emily (Age 5):** She was the first and I wholeheartedly believe the one who cursed me. I only said I would be her boyfriend because she had one of those posh tree houses in her backyard with all kinds of secret rooms and a tiny bridge so you could go from one part to another.   
  
**Sarah (Age 10):** First bint I ever kissed. That ‘relationship’ consisted solely of fevered, awkward makeout sessions in the guestroom of her flat while her parents were away and her smacking me in the back of the head every day at recess.   
  
**Nancy (Age 15):** Lasted for a month in which I damn near came down with carpal tunnels due to consistent wanking off thanks in large part to Nancy’s ‘nothing under the shirt – don’t even think about the panties’ policy.   
  
**Drusilla (Age 18):** A crowning achievement (see page 85, chapter 7 “Mailmen Are Not To Be Trusted” in _Loves’ Bitch_ ).   
  
**Kendra (Age 21):** Beautiful, exotic woman I met after moving to Sunnyhell post-Dru. I was still shaken up and vulnerable after the three years of being cheated on and all (can never say Dru doesn’t work hard when she puts her mind to something), and scared her off by declaring my undying love for her two weeks into the relationship.   
  
**Willow (Age 22):** Good ole, Wills. I’m truly happy I was the bloke who helped her realize she was gay.   
  
**Faith (Age 25):** Not a relationship at all – luckily we were both looking for the same thing, a good fuck without any sort of emotional investment at all. The party ended however after five months and last week I was cordially invited to attend her wedding to a one Mr. Robin Wood.   
  
They were all here, including those who had rejected me, and they were all talking at once. Yammering on about my shortcomings – my faults. Why things had all gone to hell and why I was to blame for it. The room began to spin and all of their nasty little faces were a blur to me, but I could still hear their words:   
  
_“You’re beneath me, William…”_   
  
_“But Daniel has a Light Bright Will-ye-um and you don’t…”_   
  
_“Me tinks you’re insane – love me, you barely know me, boy…”_   
  
_“I told you, wally! I don’t want to go that far with you.”_   
  
_“You taste like ashes, my dear William.”_   
  
“I love you, Will – I really do. It’s just… more of a friend-y kind of love.”   
  
That was it. I couldn’t take it anymore. Years of carrying all of this shit around – feeling not good enough in damn near every aspect of my being…   
  
I clutched my head and screamed at the top of my lungs, “Shut the fuck up, you bloody bitches! I’m threw being your whipping boy – year after sodding year living in a dead shell filled only by memories of every one of you – I don’t need it anymore! Don’t want to be alone and don’t need excuses to keep me that way! Stay in the bloody past and quit fucking up my future!”   
  
The room finally stopped twirling and the voices and faces finally disappeared, but Buffy, Angel, and Liam were standing in my doorway all looking at me as if I needed to be carted away by men in white coats.   
  
“Spike…” Buffy began quietly, looking right concerned, “are you…?”   
  
“Working out my issues,” I said taking a deep breath.   
  
“Does he always use that kind of language, cause I really don’t think Liam should be exposed to words like that,” Angel blathered on in Buffy’s ear but she wasn’t paying attention to the prat. Just staring at me.   
  
“What are you doing here?” I asked.   
  
“Angel invited us over for brunch…”   
  
“And we heard you screaming like an insane-o,” Liam spoke up and I couldn’t help smiling.   
  
“Liam! That’s not a nice thing to say…” it was Angel’s chastising that reminded me the wanker was still here, and I knew what I had to do:   
  
“Get out.”   
  
Buffy gave me a wounded look. “You want me to get out?”   
  
“No, not you,” I shook my head and pointed at the ex, “him. You can’t stay here, mate. I’m sorry.”   
  
“What, why…?!”   
  
With another deep breath, still present insecurities screaming in my ear, I looked directly into Buffy’s eyes and fell completely over the edge head, first. “I’m in love with you. He can’t stay here and you have to make a choice.”   
  
Fully loaded, all hands on deck – William Giles’ ship departed the island.   
  
    
  
**Epilogue**   
  
    
  
If I’ve learned anything in the past five years, it’s that growth is a never-ending process. You think its over for keeps when you stop waking up in the middle of the night with achy leg joints or when the pubes on your chin finally develop into full fledge stubble.   
  
It’s not.   
  
The events in your life shape who you are – what you’ll become, and if you wade through enough of the shit, eventually, some higher power will have mercy on your pitiful soul and give you the bloody catalyst you’ve been waiting on. But I can’t guarantee it’ll be near death by a baseball for every bloke.   
  
For, four of those five years my Tuesday, Thursday, and Friday afternoons have been occupied by Dr. Holden Webster (I absolutely refused to call the pretentious nutter ‘Webs’ like he wanted) therapist extraordinare. Despite the fucking insane amount of money he charges, I’ve actually gotten something out of our sessions – like the ability to look at my life in snapshots:   
  
There’s the day I finally decided to stop being a rotten bastard and drop in on Dad and Anya, a good two months after my baby sis Hannah was born…   
  
  
_“Hannah Christina Erika Emanuella Giles. Born March 8th 2003 at 1:58 a.m., weighing in at 8lbs five ounces,” Anya rattled off little Hannah’s stats as she deposited my squirming sis in my arms.  
  
“Seemed like Anya was in labor for a bloody lifetime…” Old Rupes gave me this misty-eyed smile – as Lifetime Movie touching as the whole thing was, the last thing I wanted to see was my dad cry. I didn’t need cliché reconciliation moments.   
  
“I’d like to see **your** vagina crap out an eight pound baby in two minutes!” Anya snapped. Thankfully I could always count on Anya to bring any potentially sappy situation into the realm of painfully uncomfortable I needed it to be in.   
  
Hannah stopped kicking and made this gurgling sound, producing an impressively large spit bubble for a Bit her size. She already had a head full of brown hair, and these sparkling hazel eyes that were going to be the death of many a wanker when she got older, but it was the smile – wide, all gums that got me.   
  
I was totally smitten and fully prepared to do the big brother duty of kicking the ass of anyone who dared to mess with her. And with the stunning Giles legacy of schoolyard torture in her blood, combined with the full name dad gave Anya permission to curse her with, Hannah might as well have had ‘Please – take my lunch money’ tattooed on her forehead.   
  
“You all doing anything for lunch tomorrow?” I asked, marveling at the iron-man grip Hannah had on my index finger.   
  
“Cleaning out a freezer full of spoiled breast milk,” Anya grumbled. “According to some doctors my milk plan was ‘unhealthy and utterly ridiculous’…”   
  
“We’re gonna need lots of help,” Dad piped up, giving me another one of those smiles. This time, however, I smiled back,   
  
“Just might drop by then.”_   
  
  
And of course, there was the day I got the ghosts of my ex-girlfriends to go haunt any one of the other male members of the population they’d fucked up – while managing to tell Buffy exactly how I feel:   
  
  
  
_“Get out.”  
  
Buffy gave me a wounded look. “You want me to get out?”   
  
“No, not you,” I shook my head and pointed at the ex, “him. You can’t stay here, mate. I’m sorry.”   
  
“What, why…?!”   
  
With another deep breath, still present insecurities screaming in my ear, I looked directly into Buffy’s eyes and fell completely over the edge head, first. “I’m in love with you. He can’t stay here and you have to make a choice.”   
  
“What?! You’re what?!” Angel shouted at me, then turned to Buffy, eyes practically bulging out of their sockets, “He’s what?!”   
  
I rolled my eyes. “In love with Buffy. I don’t remember stuttering.”   
  
Buffy stared at me for a bit, blinking, before she spoke. “Liam, why don’t you go watch TV in the living room…”   
  
“TV?!” Lee exclaimed, “ Mom, Spike just said he’s in love with you – not even the Crocodile Hunter could make me leave this room right now.”   
  
“Don’t argue,” she said sternly, eyes fixed on me. “Angel – could you give us a minute, also?”   
  
The Magnificent Poofter mumbled something but left Buffy and I alone, taking his son with him. The moment Buffy closed my bedroom door the weight of what I’d said came crashing down on me, resulting in a delightful ‘chest-caving-in’ like feeling.   
  
Trying to hold onto the tiny shreds of dignity and cool I had left, I shoved my hands in my pocket and gave her a smart-ass smirk. “Cat got your tongue, luv?”   
  
“Are you bat-shit insane?” Buffy snapped and I think I actually felt one of my lungs pop like a grape.   
  
“Possibly,” I managed to answer her.   
  
“You’re in love with me?!”   
  
My kidney’s burst and the spleen turned itself inside-bloody-out, “Very much in love with you.”   
  
“And – and you just expect me to make a decision here and now?!”   
  
“It would help take a load off of my mind, kitten.” I grinned while my intestines were busy forming knots.   
  
“Angel and I have nearly eleven years worth of history and the child to prove it,” she shot back at me.   
  
I practically bit a hole in my tongue. “Give it time – eleven years’ll pass by for us, too.”   
  
Buffy folded her arms. “You don’t date, Spike.”   
  
“Things change.” I shrugged.   
  
“You’re a misogamist, who hates his father and can’t say ‘no’ to his mother…”   
  
“Told you, I’m working on it,” I sighed.   
  
“And I’m supposed to trust that?” Buffy pulled her lips in tight.   
  
“I’m bloody far from perfect. I can’t make you any promises – all I know is what I feel in my gut – and the fucking gut says to put myself out there like an idiot and pray, if things don’t go the way I want them to, that I haven’t bollixed up our friendship.”_   
  
  
These, therapy induced snapshots tend to come to mind while I’m in that half awake half sleep stage. Head buried under a mountain of covers, trying desperately to fight consciousness but failing miserably when I hear the routine slow creaking of my bedroom door.   
  
Tiny footsteps padding over the hardwood floor, the shift of the weight on the right side of my bed…   
  
  
_“Okay, I think I speak for all of us when I say – for the love of **god** get a room!”   
  
Cordelia’s fifth whine was the charm and Buffy broke the rather amazing kiss we were locked in with a chuckle and snuggled further into my lap, burying her face in the crook of my neck.   
  
I tightened my arms around my girl and scowled at the annoying bint sitting Indian style on the floor. “You live to ruin my fun, don’t you?”   
  
Cordelia beamed. “Absolutely. But in this case it’s just hard to hear the movie over the mate-a-thon.” Her face scrunched up. “And if that’s what the two of you do while we’re all here, the chilling thought of what goes on while we’re not will keep me from ever sitting on that couch again.”   
  
“You’re **really** watching ‘This Island Earth’, Cordy?!” Xander gasped and practically tackled the poor girl.   
  
“Xander!”   
  
“I love this woman!” Xander shouted, covering Cordelia’s face with kisses while she giggled in protest.   
  
“Well, I for one, think all of this shmoopy-ness is cute,” Willow smiled, “makes me wish Kennedy didn’t hate sci-fi so much…”   
  
“Yeah,” I began, “we’re all disappointed she doesn’t drop in.” Buffy gave me a playful slap on the chest along with a quick peek of the Stern!Buffy look. She knew I was lying through my bloody teeth – Willow’s new girlfriend Kennedy was without a doubt, the biggest bitch monster I’d ever met, and none of us had found the courage to tell Wills what we really thought.< _“Are you **sure**?!”   
  
Buffy waved the white stick with the glaringly pink little plus sign in my face one more time for good measure. “It doesn’t get more sure than that,” she said with a sigh, flopping down on the end of the bed. “Why do I fall in love with the guys who have sperm with incredible sense of direction?”_ , flopping down on the end of the bed. “Why do I fall in love with the guys who have sperm with incredible sense of direction?”_   
  
  
And I opened my eyes only to be met with a wide incredibly blue pair smiling back at me.   
  
“Hehehe, hey daddy.”   
  
I yawned and gave my daughter the biggest smile I could muster this early in the morning. “Hey, Sweet Bit.” No one ever tells you how kids like to get up at the ass crack of dawn or how they love to drag you up with them.   
  
“Mommy said you have to get up cause it’s time for breakfast…” Estella took that opportunity to jump on my stomach and began bouncing up and down, curly brown locks falling over her face as she did.   
  
“All right,” I breathed.   
  
“And Lee-am wouldn’t let me in his room again! He locked the door and you and mommy said he’s not spose to, but he did…”   
  
Estella Giles: born December 12th 2004, 8:20 a.m., six pounds, eleven ounces. Looks exactly like her mum, despite having my eyes and dominant curly hair gene. Inherited the Buffy withering look (putting tiny hands on tiny hips included) and the ramble-y ‘ask every question under the bloody sun’ Summers trait.   
  
“And yesterday, he had a girl in his room – I saw em.”   
  
Liam hit a growth spurt at twelve that put him towering over me at six feet tall while dropping his voice five octaves. Sticking with football proved to help him grow out of the clumsy bugger phase and he’s the only freshman in Sunnydale High on the varsity team.   
  
I rolled out of bed and grinned at Stella as I scooped her up. “You can watch me yell at him later, Bite Size.”   
  
“Okay!” she said excitedly. Oh yeah, she also showed signs for having inherited my penchant for sadism. “Daddy?”   
  
“Hmm?”   
  
“Hannah says she’s my aunt, but aunt’s are spose to be bigger, like Auntie Dawn…”   
  
“I’ll let Grandpa explain that one.”   
  
“Daddy?”   
  
“Yeah, Stella?”   
  
“What’s a condo? Hannah says her mommy is always complaining about Grandpa using condos…”   
  
“I’ll tell you when you’re older.”   
  
  
  
My book is still on the New York Times Best Sellers list after two years now. Like I told Oz, I was sticking to my guns and doing something different – I chose to focus on my rather late journey into adulthood and wrote about the boy with the baseball who finally brought me there.   
  


The End


End file.
